


as though nothing could fall

by acastle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, M/M, Prince Harry Styles, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acastle/pseuds/acastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I look forward to working with you, Your Highness,” he says with a slight nod. Harry scoffs, flips him off with his hands on his lap, unseen to mostly everyone but him. He chokes back a laugh, settles for a smug beam instead.</p><p> </p><p>(Niall is a social worker, Harry is a pretentious prince, seventh or eight in line, and they get on each other's nerves, until they don't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	as though nothing could fall

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines.
> 
> I started this in April 2015 fuck this fic finally haha. Tons of research went into this but there are still many inaccuracies, so just suspend your disbelief. I'm a little unhappy with the way this flowed, but I did my best. Hope it's okay.

Niall considers himself lucky, all things considered. Has a stable job that he really loves and is passionate about, even though it doesn’t get him a lot of money. Has a flatmate he loves to death, and a co-worker/best-friend-since-uni whom said flatmate is so undeniably, irrevocably in love with. They are equal parts perfect and disgusting together. Has got another co-worker whom he considers as his other best friend, who keeps him in line and gives him shit when he can always count on it, and she’s the best, really. He even loves his boss, calls her ‘Mummy Roch’ because why the fuck not, he's known her since he's been in university, they're at that point, and she’s never not responded to it, and fuck’s sake, he even loves his boss’s husband, and really, he loves a lot of things, and he knows he’s lucky.

Despite everything, he’s so, so lucky.

.

“Hey, Z,” he greets as he enters the kitchen, and he can smell the chicken roasting in the dingy excuse of an oven, and he knows Zayn only goes through the effort of baking a rolled up a whole bird with all these spices and herbs they never use otherwise when Liam’s coming over for something special, so he knows when to not be around. “Um, I guess I’ll be leaving later. Fix up a few things a work-”

“No, you can have dinner with us, Ni,” Zayn tells him, and Niall appreciates the thought, he guesses, but Zayn's a shit liar and the last time he had dinner with those two, Liam stayed over and Niall didn't get any sleep that night, not with the noises coming from Zayn's room. He's not making the same mistake again. Had already fallen victim to it, too many times to count, because Zayn is a damn good cook when he chooses to actually get in the kitchen and Niall only has so much willpower, but then again, there were only so many times he would tolerate the awfully loud moaning and the headboard bangings on the wall, very much audible in their tiny enough flat, and he'd rather not listen to any of that tonight.

"No, it's fine, I know you haven't seen him since he left-"

"Neither have you."

"I see him everyday at work, I'll be good on my Liam quota," he says, smiling at him.

"But, I'm even using that garlic rub you like so much," Zayn says with a little pout. "And I'm bringing out the red wine for that gravy."

"Just save some for me, I'll be over at-um, well, I won't be here," Niall tells him, and he goes over to him, placing a short kiss on his cheek. "Tell him I said hi."

"I-"

" _Tell him I said hi,"_ Niall repeats, patting  the spot he just kissed.

Zayn looks a little disappointed, maybe a little guilty, but he replies, "Will do, babe," before reeling him in for a short hug.

Niall loves Zayn. Owes him so much, for taking him on as a roommate when Liam had to back out on him at the last minute. Had introduced the two most important people in his life and here they were, three years later. Still so in love, and Niall is so, so happy for them.

So he tolerates the undeniably sexual noises and the dinners out and overtime shifts at work whenever those two had a night in. It was the least he could do after all they’ve done for him.

.

“Your change, Ni-”

“Thanks mate,” he murmurs as the coins are dropped on to his palm, and the parcel is handed to him on the other. He makes his way to the back of the shop, and unravels it to reveal his bánh mì. He seats himself at his usual place, the last table, nearest to the television, and as he takes his first bite, the program comes back from commercial.

“ _Arguably one of the most interesting figures in the Royal Family, Prince Harry's Edward Styles of York, son of His Royal Highness The Prince Desmond Styles, Duke of York, and his former wife Anne, Duchess of York, left the country four years ago to pursue an education on the arts in Paris. Many were left wondering when the young blue blood would return to where he belonged, and that day has come. The prince arrived yesterday after concluding his studies in France and is set to make several appearances and tour around the country for several official functions.”_

 _“Glad to see you back on British soil, your Highness,”_ the interviewer states, and the camera pans to this Harry bloke, and Niall’s never been afraid to admit, he’s gorgeous. Long, brown hair, slightly curled at the ends as the locks sweep across his shoulders, deep, green eyes full of light, and a wide mouth, rosy pink lips and an easy smile. Had always thought this prince was fit, since the first time he saw him in the papers, still thinks the same way now, though he doesn’t look like he’s got much substance in him, besides the excessive partying and drinking and pulling and. He’s not proud to admit that he’s read some stuff on the tabloids, and judged Harry for it, but really. He’s all for being human and making mistakes and learning from them, but if you’re a known figure, from one of the most prestigious families on the planet, you’ve got to be more careful and not stumble out drunk out of clubs or get caught snogging a different bird every other night.

“ _t’s good to be back, thank you_ ,” Harry replies in his deep, low, rough voice with a small smile, a hint of flirtatiousness in it. Niall bets to himself that this bird is going to get lucky tonight, with no less than the fucking prince.

“ _So how was your life in France?_ ”

“ _Well, I’ve got to admit that it wasn’t easy ,_ ” he begins, and Niall doesn’t understand how, but this bloke just _oozes_ charisma. Got it in spades. Feels like he’s being charmed off his feet through the TV screen. _“I’m not used to living alone, and adjusting to that kind of lifestyle took some time, but I eventually did, and it was a great experience._ ”

“ _So now that you’re back, we’ve got to ask, what are your plans? Plan on getting more involved with the family business?”_

“Christ, fuck’s sake, no,” Mark, the owner of the shop yells from behind the counter, and a few other regulars make their agreement known. “Like we need another pretty boy to represent the fucking country.”

“Just ‘cause he’s prettier than you, Mark?” Niall asks, the grin spreading easily on his face.

“Please, you should’ve seen me at your age,” he replies with a dismissive wave. “Honestly, if all you needed to have to rule a country

were good looks and charm, then you’d be running this place, Nialler. And doing a better job of it, too.”

“Nah, rather like my job now and dignity, thanks,” Niall laughs, and the rest of Harry’s interview is drowned out by the rolling conversation in the tiny restaurant.

.

“Hey Li,” Niall grins as he passes by Liam’s cubicle. “How was Albania?”

“It was cooler than I expected,” Liam says with a frown. “I thought, you know, because they dig up bones and fossils over there, it would be, like, a desert? But there was a lot less sand than I thought there would be. The kids were great, though. The offices there are really nice, really helped me out.”

“Glad to have you back, mate,” he says, leaning over and planting a loud kiss, with an audible smack, on Liam’s forehead. “Wasn’t as fun without you around for the last three weeks. Zayn was unbearable, was like in a perpetual strop.”

“He was?” Liam pouts, and Niall resists the urge to laugh or tease him. Can’t blame Liam for how he is towards Zayn.

“Proper bawling and crying and holding himself up in the graffiti room, must’ve gone through thirty cans of spray paint binge-painting. And a different romantic movie on the tele every night,” he replies, “I think I must’ve watched Clueless eight times this past month. But I bet last night made up for it, eh?”

“It was alright,” Liam’s blush spreads to his ears, and Niall does laugh, this time. “The meal was good-”

“Yeah? Did he lick the gravy off of you, or-”

“ _Christ,_ Ni,” Liam turns even redder almost hiding behind his computer. “We ate our meal normally.”

“What about dessert?” Niall grins, “whipped cream on your co-”

“Lord, Niall, leave him alone,” Leigh-Anne cuts in, dishing out a slap to the back of Niall’s head. “Don’t be a twat, at least someone’s getting some in this office.”

“And like you haven’t?” NIall whines, but kisses her cheek in greeting as well anyway.

“Jordan’s off at a few games, please, it’s been so long,” she bemoans her plight, holding out her other cheek for Liam to kiss, and he complies. “Right, you idiots. Meeting in the conference room in five minutes for the anniversary gala. Welcome back, Lili, I hope you had amazing sex with Z last night, lucky tit.”

She slaps at Niall’s ass as she walks on ahead, and he and Liam laugh as they follow her down to the room.

.

“Right,” Rochelle stands at the helm of the table, and she eyes them all carefully. “The Playground’s fifteenth anniversary is coming up, and I’ve just gotten word that the Duchess has confirmed her attendance for the benefit.”

“Which Duchess, love?” Perrie asks from her seat, typing out the minutes for the meeting.

“Anne, you know, with the hot son-”

“Ohhhh-”

“Fuck off, Pez, like you wouldn’t either,” she bites back, but there’s not heat in it, and she’s even smiling at her. “In any case, I need to know where you lot are in terms of progress. Sandy, the venue-”

“Would you, though,” Leigh-Anne whispers beside him, “I mean, he’s _so_ fit-”

“I’ve got Zayn, I’m good,” Liam replies from Niall’s other side, and bless him, he’s still trying to pay attention to the rest of the meeting, staring at Rochelle and the board she’s writing the announcements on. “Doubt that Harry bloke could do half the things Z does-”

“You two are disgusting, get married,” she mutters, and Niall nods at her words. “But, like, I don’t know, there’s something about him. The tattoos and the look and the voice and. Christ. Getting worked up thinking about it. Even J said he would, you know. Like a royal threesome or some shit-”

“You two are the worst, why are you my best friends,” Niall groans inwardly, and he’s long given up on trying to pay attention to the meeting. “He’s not _that_ attractive, I don’t doubt he’s that not that great either.”

“But loads of girls have said he’s really good in bed,” Leigh continues, flicking at his ear. “I mean, not all of them have bedded him, obviously, but I honestly think a good number have, you know? Oh! And I’ve heard he’s been with a bloke or two as well, so you’ve still got your chance, Ni!”

“Like I’d want to fuck a prince, ever,” Niall says, waving her off. “He’s like, fifth or sixth in line, that can’t count-”

“It definitely does,” she says, “With the way all these people are throwing themselves at him, it definitely does.”

“In any case, I bet he’s all talk,” Niall scowls at her. “ And you know me. I've made a pact with myself, not-”

“-Not just in it for sex,” Liam finishes, glancing back at him. “We know Ni. How could we not, with the amount of complaining you’ve done over not getting laid enough.”

“I’d like to know that the person I’m sleeping with cares about me, Li! After all the shit years in uni fucking all those different blokes-"

"Doesn't sound like much of a hardship, if honest," she mutters at him.

"It was good then, but I'm not after that, now," he scowls at her. "Sorry, not all of us are so lucky to have found our Zayn or our Jordan. Someone to cook us a proper dinner when we get back from a trip or from work, watch silly romantic shit on the tele for a bit before locking us up in the bedroom to fu-”

“To what, Niall?” Rochelle looks over to them, and she’s got this smirk on her face, and she looks much too pleased.

“-To get more funding for the project down in Bradford,” Niall tries to transition as smoothly as possible, but the blush coloring his skin, right up to his ears, give him away. Leigh-Anne and Liam, the twats, make themselves look busy, looking down at their planners and pretending to take down notes. “We’ve got  sufficient amount, at this point, but our goal is to have a surplus, so we can take on more kids for the program.”

“Okay,” she says, taking mercy on him. “But don’t forget the marketing for the gala. We need that done as soon as possible, love.”

“Right,” he replies sheepishly, and he wants to shrink into his seat. Possibly meld into one with the leather so he doesn’t have to be stared at for being caught.

“By the way,” she goes on to say, looking at him sweetly, venomously. Shit. “I think you and that prince would make a proper good couple. And I bet he’s wicked in bed too.”

“Mummy Roch,” he whines, but he’s smiling too, and everyone in the room breaks out in laughter.

She blows a kiss to him, then turns her attention to Liam, saying, “Liam! How's that guest list coming along? And did I not tell you it wasn’t that hot in Albania?”

.

"I don't know, I think it looks pretty sick," Harry says, looking at himself in the mirror.

"In what world am I ever going to let you wear that, Harry," Caroline eyes him, staring at his chest with disdain, the sheer black shirt with red floral embellishments unbuttoned down to his abs. Because really, like he wasn't showing enough skin.

"Why not, Caz?!" Louis yells from the corner of the room he'd claimed for himself. "Free the nipple! All that much easier for me to twist it later on when we get trashed-"

"Louis, you're not even supposed to be here, strictly speaking," she rolls her eyes over to him, and Louis just gives her a winning smile.

"I'm just waiting around for my cousin, love," he replies, aiming a grape at Harry's head. "Not my fault he can't bloody dress himself without his nips taking center stage."

"Cannot believe I've stuck with you two for all these years," she sighs to herself, picking out a plain white button down for him to try on. "Cannot believe I agreed to styling this family, it will be the death of me-"

"You love us, like Nan will let you dress her in leather and denim, that's why we're here, highlight of your career-"

"Louis, god's sake, shut up," she tells him, and taps her foot impatiently as Harry, grudgingly, tries on the shirt. Buttons it up to his neck when she glares at him when he tries to leave it open halfway through. He looks clean, dapper, but it doesn't feel quite right. Feels like it's meant for someone else.

"I hate it," he mumbles, staring at the top with loathing. "The titties need to be out, Caroline. It's how I wore anything in Paris-"

"But you're not in Paris anymore, love," she tells him, handing him a blazer, acquiescing a bit by choosing the one with the subtle, shimmery floral pattern, visible only in a certain light. "I wouldn't mind it, honestly, keeps me on my toes, but you've got an image to maintain while you're here. Your father gave me specific instructions. I know it's not to your liking-"

"He looks like he's about to cry, Caz-"

"-But it's for your own good," she finishes, picking out a slim black tie and tying it around his neck. "I know you don't care about your title all that much, Harry, but you're a prince. People will pay attention to you, whether you like it or not. Have got to look your royal best, at all times."

She makes him turn to face the mirror, and he can't recognize himself in the reflection. He feels stifled rather than princely.

"There, for the benefit gala," she remarks, looking approvingly at the mirror as he frowns that much more.

"I thought mum was the one going to that one-"

"Your father's making you proxy, to make up for missing the dinner for President Hollande," Caroline replies, and Harry struggles to bite his tongue. Fucking unbelievable. "There, we're done for the day. Thank you for behaving, relatively-"

Louis scoffs at the corner, aiming an olive from the platter up, and catching it in his mouth.

Harry doesn't say anything, just kisses Caroline on the cheek in a silent thank you as she makes to leave the room, Louis doing the same, but as soon as the door closes behind her, he chucks off the jacket, rips the shirt off, making the buttons fly, and struggles with the tie, biting his lip as he tries to stave off his tears of frustration.

"...Tough day? Know how that feels-”

"Fuck off, Lou, don't be a twat," Harry throws the shirt at him, missing spectacularly by several feet.

"I'm just trying to make you laugh," Louis says with a wave of his hand. "And really, it didn’t look that bad. You still looked like a prat, just a different kind.”

"What am I doing wrong? Fuck, I know I’m not perfect, but," Harry has to ask himself, a reflex reaction, hunching in on himself slightly.

Louis glances at him immediately, and turns to big brother mode effortlessly, sitting up straighter and speaking in a softer tone. "You’re not doing anything wrong, Haz. You’re just living. But you know we don't have it easy."

"We never have anything easy, not when we're here," Harry says, and he settles down in the love seat next to the mirror, by the closets. Holds his face in his hands and making his voice muffled as he goes on to say, "No one over there really cared all that much, you know? I was just another person. I could pull girls, I could pull the occasional guy. I could pull, full stop. I could be normal. No one cared that I had tattoos, or that I wanted to get more, or that I drank or what I wanted to study or, fuck. I mean, sometimes people would recognize me, but it wasn't like people really _cared."_

"Just another pretentious hipster on his motorcycle and golden glitter helmet" Louis remarks, and he can't help but feel a little better. Still wants to maybe kick him in the balls, but there's a reason he considers Louis as his best friend. "Lugging around a vintage camera that uses film, weird as fuck shirts open to the fucking butterfly for extra cleavage-"

"I wish this life would stop trying to dictate who I'm supposed to be," Harry mutters, and Louis doesn't need him to explain what he means, exactly. Just looks at him sadly, just for a moment, before he shakes it off,  clapping his hands and bouncing to his feet, and pulling at Harry's arm.

"We're going out. Put that god awful shirt back on and let the titties fly free."

.

Louis makes him knock back maybe six shots in a row before he’s allowed to approach any of the girls around. It’s generous, considering that he’d much rather talk to a bloke right now, but he can’t do that here. He knows some people have suspected it for awhile, knows not everyone he’s done it with has kept quiet, but it’s never been up for discussion, to really confirm it. Personal matters go through a lot of scrutiny within his own family and the lawyers before it even makes it to the public relations team, who find a way to make any news concerning them more palatable for public consumption. The Palace has put out statements, many, many, multiple variations of them, regarding his behavior. The excessive partying, getting caught drunk and the occasional high, the girls he’s slept with (they were all acknowledged as girlfriends, though Harry thought that this was a great injustice; like he’d ever be _that_ emotionally available to people who made it perfectly clear to him that they just wanted his dick). But the men he’s been with, that was a different case.

It’s always been acknowledged, his varied preferences. His family, his friends, their team. They never really cared, never judged him for it, never thought different of him. But to admit it publicly. That was a bridge no one was willing to cross yet.

But right now, as he easily walks up to this gorgeous dark-haired bird who’d been eyeing him for the better part of the hour, it doesn’t really bother him.

.

“Harry, fuck’s sake, couldn't you have done this inside,” Louis rubs his back as he empties the contents of his stomach, alcohol and maybe a few of those sugary chasers and more alcohol, onto the pavement. He’s hunched over the side of the car, large and black and formidable, obviously designed to protect rich and important people, and it’s just enough to hide him from the rest of the street. The guards, a whole community of them, surround the street, making sure no one comes near. He knows all of them by name, sends their kids and families gifts every year for the hols, probably knows them all better than he knows his own extended family, but sometimes, the overbearing presence gets to him.

At the moment, though, as he’s retching, barely missing the car doors, he’s pretty grateful that they’re blocking the view.

“Someone might take a picture of you, mate, come on,” Louis forces him to stand up straight, a bottle of water already in his hands and he’s shoving it into Harry’s, making him drink the whole of it in one go. “No need for you to get sent back to France, you just got back-”

“I’d honestly rather be there,” Harry says, taking a few gulps of the cold night air to keep himself from doubling over. “You should come with, Lou, it’s like a little bit of freedom. I can throw up on the streets and people will just offer me a hanky for when I’m done. People here just bring out their phones to take shots of me letting the pavement have at it.”

“Haz, I know you like being independent,” Louis tells him, looking a lot more serious than he has in a few hours. “I get that, you know I do. But this is our life. As much as I seem to encourage you to be who you want to be, there’s got to be limitations. Being who we are, like it  or not, it comes with responsibilities. It affects our parents, on the family. I know you don’t talk to Des that often, but you have to know that this will reflect badly on him.”

“I love my dad Lou, you know I do, but it’s not like he’s been the best father,” he whines into the dark, and he breathes slowly. Feels another rush of sick threatening to come up his throat. “Fuck, she was a really fit, too. Great snogger, ten out of ten. Knew I shouldn’t have taken those shots you gave me.”

“Not my fault you're such a lightweight," Louis says. "It was only supposed to help you loosen up-"

" _Six shots_ is well past loosening up," Harry frowns at him, and he may very we'll be a little miffed at him, but when Louis magically procures another bottle of water for him to down, he's a little more than grateful. "Weren't you the one who brought me out here in the first place?"

"I meant for us to have fun, Haz, not get seen vomming out in the streets," he defends himself, flicking at his ear. "My bad, though. Guess I should have foreseen this when I made you knock back the tequila. I made sure it was the kind you liked, though. With the rose  in the name and shit."

"Fuck, the world's still spinning," Harry says, clutching at his head and trying to calm down. "Fuck, I shouldn't have gotten those other drinks-"

"Probably drank your weight in alcohol tonight," Louis remarks, then he says, "come on," and one of the guards, Harry can't tell which one at the moment, immediately open the car doors and Harry's being herded inside, and the last thing he hears before he blanks out is, " _Christ,_ I stepped on it, fuck's sake, can I have a towel, please?"

.

The place is in a bit of a flurry before the event.

Everyone is everywhere, trying to get the last minute details fixed and out of the way, and it's made funnier by the fact that everyone is so dressed up.

“Liam, please fix your- you know what, Zayn, do it for him,” Rochelle says as she’s rushing out, as fast as she can afford in her gown and her heels. “I need to check on the sound systems and the program, can you make sure the other guests are settled in-"

"Got it, mum," Liam replies as Zayn straightens up the bow tie around his neck. "Where's Ni-"

"He's picking up the flowers for the Duchess. Calum, twat, forgot to," Leigh-Anne runs by them, a queen in her six inch heels. "Luke looks like he's about to break down, he's got no idea who most of these people are, should have never let him be an usher-"

"You lot should be more chill, this is supposed to be a relaxed, posh thing, innit?" Zayn wonders aloud as he presses a kiss to Liam's cheek. "Li, go help the lad out, Leigh, let me help you with your hair, it's gone out of the bun."

It's pretty mad everywhere for the next twenty minutes, everyone trying to get everything in place and making it look as seamless as possible. Most of the guests arrive within that time, greeting one another and making pleasantries, dressed to the nines as they mingle and nibble on the fine hors d'oeuvres and sip on the wines and. For a non-profit organization, they've pulled out all the stops, and it's bordering the line between impressive and worrying.

"Is Niall here yet?" Roch asks as she's gathered the team outside the hall, "We need those flowers, the prince will be here soon-"

"The Prince? I thought the Duchess was the one coming," Perrie pipes up from the side as they're all lining up to welcome their honored guest.

"Turns out her son will be taking her place tonight, just got word from their team now," Rochelle replies as she stands off at the end of the line. "These royals. I swear, think we've to the time to do their every whim, just drop everything and do as they say.”

“This the fit one, then?” Leigh asks, hair perfectly placed and dress divine.

“Supposedly, so.”

“Where’s Niall?”

“Shut it, he’s here-”

“Oh my god, where?”

.

Harry has a headache.

“We’re here, Your Highness,” the driver, Paul, Harry’s mind supplies, tells him as they drive up to the entrance of the hall. Grand archway, old and charming, lights glamorous and red carpet rolled out, cameras flashing every-fucking-where. It’s too much already. “Are you alright, there, sir?”

“I’m fine,” Harry replies, tries to be polite, but his head is aching slightly, the suit is tight and covers every inch of him. He feels strangled, the collar buttoned all the way up, and he feels incredibly. Fake. The shimmering, subtle pattern of the blazer didn’t help at all. He shakes his head, tries to clear his mind, gets himself in the proper mood. “I’m fine.”

The doors open for him, and he walks out, well-practiced manners lining his dimples, his mouth in a smile. If only for a few hours.

.

“Oh, _shit,_ he is fit,” Leigh mutters, watching as the prince, long curls tumbling over his shoulders, lips fixed in a charming grin as he goes down the line, shaking hands with everyone. Luke almost swoons audibly as Harry gives him a firm shake, which is. Luke has a girlfriend. “And that suit is like. Tailored. Like, well.”

“Eh, he’s okay,” Liam replies, a bit of a shrug, and Zayn snorts.

“Behave,” Rochelle tells them with the corner of her mouth, and Marvin is biting his lips, completely failing at hiding his laughter.

“Hello, there,” the prince greets Leigh as he reaches her, smile still plastered on his face, and he takes her hand as she bows her head slightly. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replies, and it’s a wonder she’s not blushing. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Harry’s eye catches the one that looks like a model, impossible eyelashes and cheekbones, watches him snort at her words, but it’s only slightly heard, Harry adjusts his expression to seem like he were none the wiser, but really. He understands the feeling. Wishes he could snort and call out the bullshit, too. He sees that the one that looks a bit like a bear, and the goddess that he’s pretty sure runs the whole thing, blush on his behalf.

As Harry greets them, down the line, shaking their hands and making small talk, someone runs in. Actually runs in, slightly sweaty and huge bouquet in his hands, and he skids to a stop next to the last person in line, schools his face into something that isn’t exhausted or just obviously just having run.

Harry pauses, lowering his hand from where he was greeting Marvin, and he stares at the new face.

He’s good-looking, like. No doubt, but. “Hello?”

“Uh, what.”

He has to swallow several times not to laugh at the reaction he gets, and this stranger stares at him, eyes wide. His eyes are really blue, and the bit of dark he can see in his hair offsets it wonderfully. Wishes he’d let that grow out, rid himself of the blonde locks he’s sporting.

Harry gives him the once-over, refuses to acknowledge how handsome this bloke is, how well his suit fits and how the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose makes him want to ravish him, a bit.

His eyes stop at the bouquet in his hands. “What is that?”

He blinks, and says slowly, “Flowers.”

“Obviously,” Harry snorts, and he stops in front of him. “Why do you have them, then?”

He stares blankly at him, then says, “They're supposed to be for the Duchess. Up until, um, two minutes ago? I thought that she'd be the one showing up tonight.”

“Well, I'm obviously not mum, so,” Harry smirks a little. Doesn't know why, but there's something about this bloke that makes him want to mess around a little. Get into his head a bit. “Sorry to disappoint. I'm Harry.”

“No, of course, I'm sorry, Your Highness,” he says, cheeks turning the slightest pink.

“Won't you tell me your name? It'd be a shame, not to know, you're gorgeous,” Harry says quietly, just for him. Doesn't want anyone else to hear.

The bloke looks up, a little shocked, turning  even redder, and he gulps. Replies quietly, “Niall Horan.”

“Well, you're cute,” Harry tells him, smirks. “And you didn't have to try so hard to woo me, with the flowers. You’re fit. Wouldn’t be a hardship.”

“Your Highness-”

“Harry, please.”

“- _Your Highness_ ,” Niall emphasizes, looking uncomfortable, “this really isn’t appropriate.”

“Don’t say you’re not attracted to me, you’d be lying then,” Harry winks, and Niall stares at him, shocked. “Thank you, for the flowers, nice gesture and all, but. They’re not really needed. Think they’d be much better suited to your lovely boss,” he glances back to Rochelle, smiling slyly, before turning back to Niall. “Was nice to meet you.”

He doesn’t say anything in return, face still flaming, but he gives a small, curt nod, shakes Harry’s hand briefly, removing himself from his hold as quickly as allowed, and Harry wants to snort, just barely stopping himself.

“Right this way, then, Your Highness,” Rochelle then comes forward, gestures over to the entrance, and he strides with her, trying to listen as she welcomes him to the gala hall, tells him about how excited they were to have him present, but he can’t seem to set his heart on it. Looks back, watches Niall school his face into a neutral expression, flowers limply held in his arms.

Harry cannot help but smirk.

.

“Well, he seems full of himself,” Zayn says as they settle into their table, servers moving like clockwork around them and serving the soup, some incredibly complicated, unnecessarily pretentious reimagination of London Particular, and Niall hums his assent as the rest of the table scoffs.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Liam says, a little quietly, and Leigh nods her head beside him, but both go silent when Zayn and Niall stare them down.

“He _was,_ is the thing,” Niall says, frowning at his soup. It’s much clearer than pea soup fog is supposed to be. It irks him. “Like. Really inappropriate as well. Must be too used to having anyone just want to go out of their way to have him sleep with them, or something.”

“Is that why he talked to you for as long as he did?” Leigh-Anne asks him.

“Did he proposition you?” Liam asks, a little outraged for him.

“Doesn’t matter what he said, like I’d ever agree,” Niall says, waving it all off. Still frowns down at his soup. “I mean, _yeah_ , alright, based on looks alone, I’d sleep with him, fine-”

“ _Niall_ ,” Liam says, scandalized, while Leigh and Zayn snort into their soup.

“-But, like. Could have gone without his really arrogant, self-assured attitude,” Niall mutters, stabbing his bowl with his spoon. He doesn’t plan on eating it. “And he could have just accepted the flowers. Ran to get them for him. Well, for his mother, but in any case. Aren’t them royals supposedly taught how to be gracious?”

“Like, their job description, innit?” Zayn says, bit of a scowl on his face.

“Niall,” Marvin approaches their table, bows down to talk to him. “Roch is asking if you could help out with the stragglers? She doesn’t really trust Luke yet with it. A few other high-profile guests are coming in a bit late, if you wouldn’t mind-”

“Yeah, of course, no problem,” he nods, laying his napkin on his chair and rising from his seat. Pushes his glasses up on his nose, and nods to the rest of them. “Don’t talk shit without me.”

“Only for you, Irish,” she raises her water goblet at him, and he rolls his eyes at her.

He makes his way out of the dining hall and out to the lobby, nodding everyone he passes by with a smile and a nod, tidies himself up a bit as he waits for the last few guests.

“Well, can’t say I’m not pleased to find you here,” someone says to him, and the slow, deep drawl laced with a self-satisfied grin Niall knows is there gives Harry away. He turns reluctantly to face the prince, out of courtesy, but he can’t say he feels the same way he does. “I’d hoped to see you one last time before I left.”

“Your Highness?” he says, confused, and Harry’s nodding to one of his guards, who nods back and is speaking into his lapel, and Niall catches the words, ‘ _Bring the car around._ ’ “Wait, I’m sorry, are you leaving?”

“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself, I mean, I got to meet everyone and I’m sure it’s a great organization, and _you_ are quite a sight,” he says, taking his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it. Doesn’t even look over to Niall, not once. “But I really was not supposed to be here tonight. My mother was indisposed. I’ve just been assigned to go.”

“So that gives you license to leave so early? Soup was barely out, Your Highness,” Niall grits out, tries to stay courteous. “Your Highness-”

“Harry, please,” he says, looking up to give him a quick grin, before looking down at his phone again.

“That’s not a - you know what, fine _, Harry,_ ” Niall says, tries not to let his anger bleed into his voice, “The meal’s not even been served, and you’re leaving already? I’m sorry, if this comes off as rude, but that’s very poor manners.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” Harry tells him, sighing a bit. “I am sorry. Really. But I really do not have the kind of patience and willpower to finish events like this. It’s not personal, promise. It’s just that, well, I’ve never been good at this kind of thing.”

“What do you mean?” Niall says, and he doesn’t hide his frown. “All you have to do is _be there._ Like, eat the food and just sit there and nod and smile. Hardly difficult.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry says in reply, and Niall is not in the best of moods.

“Harry, if you’d please understand. I don't think you know just how many people have worked on this night, not particularly for you or even your mother. Just. This family's worked so hard to get where it is, and tonight is special to us. We thought that tonight would have been our way of celebrating the last fifteen years, and to have had you, or your mum, that would have been really special.”

“What does my mum have anything to do with this?”

“She was one of our first real supporters. Donated generously over the years and participates in our programs,” Niall tells him, and he’s still not paying attention. “I know you’re not inherently a bad person, Your Highness, but it would have been nice if you had known why we invited her in the first place. Why _you’re_ here, anyway.”

“This is my mum’s business, not mine,” Harry replies, and Niall’s just had about enough.

“If you’d stop dismissing this, for a minute,” he says, glowers at him. “And please stop staring at your phone while you’re being spoken to.”

“Wha- Niall,” Harry looks up then, miraculously, and he looks oddly smug, too relaxed. “My phone has no quarrel with you.”

“Yeah?” Niall’s feeling like he can either throttle him, or snog him. Wait. “You’ve been paying more attention to that more than anything else the entire time you’ve been here, wouldn’t you like to know that for the price of your phone, it could feed ten kids for at least two weeks.”

“What does that have to do with anything- you know what,” Harry reels back, and he’s still looking to confident. Niall quite despises him already. He’s still fit, though. “I’m sorry, I really am, but my ride is here, and-”

Niall doesn’t let him finish. Just bows, because he’s still respectful even though he’s beyond angry, and says curtly, “Good night, Your Highness,” and turns to leave. Startles a bit, to see two of Harry’s security having stood behind him the entire time, and one of them’s got the slightest smirk on his face. Niall doesn’t give himself any time to analyze it, and just goes to greet the newcomers that have just arrived.

By the time he turns back around, Harry, and his security personnel, the whole lot of them, are gone.

.

“Prince Charming left before you could get your midnight kiss last night,” Leigh-Anne remarks as she passes by his cubicle, drops an envelope for the Mullingar trip for the end of the month. “Shame, was waiting for you to look less like an amphibian-”

“If anyone’s a frog, it’s him,” he says shortly, takes out the documents from the envelope. He has a lot to go through before the trip.

“A fit frog, though.”

“I’d rather snog an actual frog,” Niall mutters, lips curling unpleasantly at the thought. “Left before the program, twat.”

“He left before the _actual meal_ ,” Liam frowns, poking his head out from the neighboring desk. “Had to make a special entree for him because he doesn’t eat red meat. Z spent days looking for a good alternative to help out, testing different chicken recipes. Had to order the free-range one special. Shame, though, the steak was _amazing._ ”

“What an actual twat,” Niall mutters, and the words on the document before him are blurring. Shoves his glasses up his face rather violently in leftover anger. “Can shove his rose gold iPhone up his-”

“Niall?” Rochelle peeks her head out from inside her office, “Can I have a word?”

Niall stares back at her dumbly, before nodding. Being called into the office isn’t a thing that happens often, and when it does happen, it’s not ever really a good thing, especially because Roch was the _nicest_ boss ever. Last time it happened was when she called everyone in to go on a rant about how Akon wasn’t appreciated enough for helping provide electricity to some 600 million people in Africa. It was a legendary tirade. Someone had almost gotten fired.

He looks to the rest of them, and they’re staring back at him deathly quiet.

“What did you do?” Liam asks, but he shakes his head, scoffing, though not feeling very confident about it.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean I might have told him off for leaving early-”

“Have fun in prison, mate,” Leigh tells him, settling back into her seat nonchalantly.

He rolls his eyes at them, but swallows the lump in his throat that shows his apprehension. Stands, then makes the short trip to her office, small but clean and very her, full of pictures of her daughter and of Marvin, her earlier days in uni and awards the organization has received over the years.

“Take a seat, Nialler,” she says, and her face is infuriatingly blank. Niall nods and takes his place in front of her desk. “Had a great gala, didn’t we?”

“Amazing,” he agrees. Still can’t see where this is going.

“Yeah, amazing. Even if the prince left hours too early,” she says, and his blood boils a little, but he tamps it down, fights for it to not show up on his face. “Heard you had a few choice words to say to him.”

“I- yes, I did,” he concedes, turning a little pink, but he refuses to feel bad about it. He knows he wasn’t wrong. “Am I being sent to jail, or-”

“I don’t quite know, Nialler,” she says, and she’s trying to look strict, but the smile fighting to stay hidden gives her away. “But I’d imagine when you call the sixth person in line for the throne a ‘twat,’ you’re bound to get into some trouble.”

“I didn’t actually call him a twat.”

“You implied it though. Guards told us you looked like you wanted to run over his phone?”

“It’s pink, it’s pretentious and it’s honestly a wonder how his hand can hold it like, so easily,” he huffs out pettily.

She’s grinning, trying not to laugh. “Still wanna shag him, though?”

“Oh my _god,_ ” he says, blushes and hides his face in his hands. “Can we not?”

“Aww, you’re getting so flustered,” she coos, and he glares at her. “As much as I love torturing you, this has caught the attention of Prince Desmond.”

“What.”

“Just been told to tell you that you’re being called up to his residence, in Windsor.”

“ _Shit_ ,” he swears, heart going into overdrive. He fights not to get a panic attack, and Roch knows him well enough to hand him a cup of water. “Shit, I _am_ going to prison-”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, love,” she tells him, patting his arm. “The lovely lady who called sounded like she was about to laugh as she told me, all good signs. So it can’t be all that bad.”

A beat. Then, he says, groaning at his misfortune, “Not only am I going to prison, they sound like this is fun for them. Throwing people in jail for a right laugh-”

“Oh my god, it’s not that deep,” she deadpans, throwing her pack of tissues at him. “They said to be there in the Royal Lodge by two, tomorrow afternoon, someone will be there to greet you. Take pictures, please.”

.

“Oi, arseface, wake up,” someone is yelling, before a pillow is thrown, hard, landing on his face. He groans, then groans again, louder, as the curtains are drawn and the sun is shining in. He cracks open one eye reluctantly, sees Louis on his phone, probably taking an incriminating photo of him. Twat. He attempts to swat him away, waving his arm, but it’s not very effective. He eventually gives up, burrows deeper into his bed and pulls the duvet over his head.

“Oi, wake up, it’s almost noon, you idiot,” he says, ripping back the covers and pulling at his legs, dragging him down the mattress.

Harry yelps, grabs at the covers before he’s completely off the bed, and turns to glare at Louis. “What was that for?”

“Paul said you left the gala early?” he says, completely indifferent to the daggers being sent his way.

“Yeah, and what of it?” he mutters, pulling himself up to sit on the bed.

“You’ve got to stop fucking off of these events, Harold,” he says, typing furiously on his phone. “What got you in trouble with your old man in the first place.”

“Gemma never got this much shit,” he groans, and Louis throws another pillow at him.

“Because, unlike you and me, gentle cuz, she’s actually properly made for this monarchy business shit,” he says, easily avoids the pillow Harry throws his way. “Wanker. She sends her love, by the way. Sent a message from Africa just an hour ago, says the babies over there think you look like Rapunzel.”

“That all she said?”

“She says not to hook up with the model again.”

“Which one?”

“Didn’t specify, think it’s a blanket term for all of them,” Louis says, sits on an armchair. “Amazing. While your sister’s being an actual gem, living up to her name and helping provide proper medical care to millions of people in the third world, you’re here skipping out on events getting into arguments with fit blokes.”

“Would’ve snogged that one,” he mutters, lips curling at the thought of Niall. “If only he didn’t talk.”

“Oh? So he’s a smart, intelligent type, then? One with real dignity, yeah?” Louis remarks. Easily deflects the other pillow thrown at him. “I bet he even wears glasses.”

“Go away,” Harry whines, slumps back to the bed, but Louis just pushes him back up.

“Twat, get up.”

A knock on the door makes them pause, and there’s barely any moment for them to respond before Anne’s coming in, hair in a soft bun and her long dress comfortingly casual. She doesn’t dress like a duchess, and Harry loves her for it.

“Good afternoon, love-”

“It’s not even noon yet, don’t do this, mum,” he whines, but he gets up from the bed to hug her, for far too long, enough for her to pinch his sides. He yelps, jumping away, and Louis doesn't hide his laughter.

“You’ve got to stop leaving parties early, love,” she tells him, indifferent to the wounded look he gives her as he rubs his afflicted sides. Louis pokes at the area repeatedly. “And that one was important to me.”

“Then why didn’t you go? Why’d they make me go?” he asks, pouting. Swats Louis away.

“Because your father thought it would be good for you to go.”

“It feels like a test,” he mutters, ruffling his hair.

“It might have been,” she says, shrugging. It makes Harry freeze, and Louis starts cackling. “He’s asked to see you today. You’re to go to Windsor, he’s expecting you at 2.”

“No-”

“Come on, you’ve got to get ready,” she says, going to his walk-in closet and pulling out some of his neater looking items. “Try to look decent, love, they tend to be the judgemental type over there-”

“Oh my god, mum, I’m not going,” he says, but she looks back at him with this stare that makes him feel small in his boxers.

“I don’t think you’ve got any clue how hard I fought just so you could stay here, instead of there,” she tells him, voice level and taking no shit. Louis is trying to muffle his laughter, still. “But there’s only so much I could do for you. You absolutely cannot be acting the way you are, not when you’re in line for the crown-”

“I’m seventh in line, I don’t think-”

“Sixth, mate,” Louis mutters.

“Why should it matter? I didn’t ask for this kind of life, this isn’t meant for me and you know it, mum.”

“Be that as it may, Harry, you have to understand that whatever you do, reflects on him, and the rest of the family,” she tells him. “It shows how you were raised, how you were brought up.”

He tamps back the temptation to mutter about how Des was never really around for him, so it shouldn’t be a problem because he didn’t raise him, but he doesn’t say it. Wants to, though.

“Please go, he just wants to talk to you,” she asks him, patting his arm. “Please, love. Let’s not make this anymore difficult for you.”

He looks at her quietly, then sighs. “Okay,” he concedes, doesn’t say the “ _for you,_ ” resting at the tip of his tongue.

.

Niall listens to most of Fleetwood Mac’s discography to calm himself down, the entire train ride from London to Berkshire. He’s taken a puff from his inhaler and tried sleeping but it feels like his body won’t cooperate with him, makes him feel jumpy and there’s too much energy in his veins for him to chill out.

He makes it to the Lodge an hour early due to his nerves, and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. Stares at the entrance gates for far too long before he realizes that standing outside for an extended amount of time would be suspicious, so he presents his ID to one of the guards, and he’s taken through a laborious, meticulous process to enter to building proper. Suddenly thanks that he’s so early, otherwise. Security checks at almost every turn, strict enough to make him think that he's done something wrong though he's sure he hasn't done anything completely illegal. Unless indirectly insulting Prince Whatsis is a crime, now.

“Mr. Horan,” a lady greets him when he gets to the waiting room, after what feels like an hour of security checks. “Good afternoon, I'm Lou Teasdale, I contacted your boss yesterday. Thank you for coming today, His Royal Highness, Prince Desmond is in the conservatory and will be ready to meet with you shortly in his office. Follow me.”

He does as he's told, acutely aware of the two guards that follow behind him, and he's never felt quite so threatened. He can't quite speak, and after a few minutes, she laughs as they're making their way through the halls.

“Didn't think you'd be so quiet,” she says, and he can hear the smirk in her words. “Many of us were greatly impressed when you told off His Highness’ son-”

“ _Shit_ ,” he tries to murmur, but he can't quite keep it below the volume of a staged whisper. She laughs again, and if he's not mistaken, the guards behind him cough rather loudly, as if disguising their own chuckles.

“Please don't misunderstand, we’re actually quite fond of His Royal Highness, Prince Harry,” she tells him, “he’s charming, and he’s very amiable to us and our children, especially, but he doesn’t have much patience, and he has a habit for breaking rules. No one seems to have the heart or nerve to call him out on it, other than his family, but when we’d found out from Paul that you went off on him, we’d been very amused.”

“Amused?” he’s almost afraid to ask, but she’s chuckling again.

“We won’t deny it’s funny to see His Highness’s ego knocked down a hitch, especially when he’s not expecting it.”

They come to a halt, and she’s nodding to two guards standing on either side of a double door entrance. They nod back, and open either door to reveal a grand room, floor to ceiling shelves filled with books, ornate and grand and sophisticated. Niall swallows, feeling very much out of his league. There’s even a fireplace, and he fights the urge to snort when he realizes it’s bigger than his own wardrobe back in his flat, where it gets bitingly cold in the winter. The office, in fact, seems to be bigger than the entirety of his flat. Amazing.

“His Highness will be with you soon,” Lou tells him, gestures him over to a plushy chair in front of the desk. “He’s coming from a late lunch in the conservatory.”

“Right, thank you,” he says, feeling very out of place as he takes a seat in the chair proffered. He scowls as he settles into it; the cushion is softer than his own bed.

It really must only take a few minutes, but Niall feels like it’s been hours, before the doors open again, and someone is saying to him, “I apologize for the wait-”

He stands up immediately, turns to see Prince Desmond, giving him an apologetic look as he walks over to the desk. Niall is startled for a moment, once he sees him dressed simply in a jumper over a collared shirt and khakis. Looks very much like a dad who golfs.

“Niall Horan, Your Highness,” Lou introduces him, and he bows slightly, shaking the hand Prince Desmond offers.

“Your Highness, honor to meet you, sir,” he says quietly, and he laughs then, not loudly, but enough to shock Niall out of his nervous internal breakdown.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice, Mr. Horan,” he says, gesturing for him to take his seat as he settles behind the desk.

“Was no trouble, sir,” he says, and he hopes his palms weren’t so clammy when they had shaken hands.

“You recognize Paul?” he says, and when Niall sees him, he feels his heart start pounding, a little. Yes, he does recognize him, but he doesn’t voice his answer. “Harry’s personal bodyguard was just recently relieved; we’d recently discovered that he had been in fact using my son to encounter women. Paul is the head of my security, and I’d told him to stand in for the event, and he tells me that you had some choice words to say to my son when he’d left early.”

“Quite a lot of bravery, to speak to His Highness like that,” Paul says, voice deep and Niall can hear a slight Irish brogue, somewhat faded after so many years in service of the most famous British family in the world. It has no hint of meanness or sarcasm, either. He looks at Niall with a bit of a smile on his face, and Niall is slowly beginning to relax, but, like a freight train, is reminded of why he was here in the first place.

“Your Highness, I promise I didn’t mean any of the words I’ve said with intent,” Niall says solemnly, apologetically. “I am truly sorry if I’ve caused your son any distress, or if I’ve offended anyone. I don’t want any trouble, I’m prepared to give a public apology if it is so needed-”

“Mr. Horan,” he’s saying, chuckling, and so are the guards and Lou. “It’s quite alright. No one in this room feels you’ve done any wrong.”

“Your Highness?” Niall feels the feeling returning to his limbs.

“Harry is very charismatic. He’d make a good leader if he so wanted,” he begins to say. “He is kind, and tries not to be rude, but. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, he doesn’t take his responsibilities seriously. He’s got a problematic attitude when it comes to his duties, he takes his wealth for granted, and he parties almost every night. There is nothing wrong with that, don’t misunderstand, if he likes to have fun. That does not mean to say he’s a bad person, but when he comes to functions and meetings hungover, or skips out on them totally, then it causes everyone problems.

“He’s well trained in the ways of being a royal, but we understand that it’s not for everyone. But we can’t really afford him to be so casual about his title. We’ve been trying to speak to him for years, his mother, his sister, his cousins, his grandparents, myself. Quite literally our entire family. He’s grown immune to our words, they’ve got no effect on him anymore. But when you spoke to him so candidly, you threw him off. Paul could see it, that you put him in his place. I admire your candor.”

“Oh, well,” Niall starts lamely, before he stops himself from speaking totally.

“That is why, I would like to appoint you to supervise my son in an immersion, of sorts, in one of your sponsored areas,” he says, and Lou comes over to the desk, badly masked grin on her face as she lays down a folder in front of him, and Niall can't find his words from extreme shock. Documents, non-disclosure agreements, evaluation sheets and itineraries and agendas among the many sheets within. “The NDA is just a formality, I hope you understand, but I'd like Harry to be humbled. I know it's not as if this single trip will change him completely, but if he could see how the other side lives. See how truly fortunate he is.”

“Your Highness, you sure you want me?” Niall says, not quite believing. “I mean, all I did was tell him off-”

“Something that not a lot of people have the guts to do, apparently,” he replies, smirk on his face. “You won’t go easy on him. That’s what he needs. He could learn, from someone like you. Speaking of, Ms. Teasdale, has he arrived?”

“He’s in the lobby, sir. On his way now,” she says, fingers on her earpiece as she receives the message.

“Well, only a half hour late. Better than usual,” he says, mostly to himself, and he smiles at Niall. “We can work on that, yes? He’ll be a handful, Mr. Horan. It will be a challenge. Would you be willing to take him on?”

“I, um. It would be an honor, sir,” he says, not quite sure of what to say. He’s flattered, to say the least. That they’d thought that he’d be good for this. Would be a right laugh to be Prince Whatsis’s boss, even for a bit, but. He can’ deny the bit of nerves, but he can’t help but smirk a little.

The doors open, and Harry’s entering, black jeans and colorful floral shirt unbuttoned to show his chest, his boots black and shiny.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, and it takes him a moment before he sees Niall there, and when he does, his eyes widen, then his eyebrows furrow in confusion. Niall revels in it, his smirk growing wider.

“Your Highness,” he greets him with a small bow, standing. Harry stares at him, looking even more confused, then looks at his father, who just waves for them to be seated before him, next to each other on the plushy chairs.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Prince Desmond says, and the shift in the atmosphere is palpable.

“Afternoon, dad,” he replies, and he’s sneaking glances at Niall, who won’t stop smiling smugly.

“You remember Mr. Horan, I trust?” he says, and Niall just grins at him while Harry looks on. Twat. “Well, I’m putting him in charge of you for the next few weeks.”

“What,” Harry’s making a noise of protest.

“You’ll be joining Mr. Horan in his trip to Mullingar, Ireland, for one of his organization’s regular projects for orphans. You leave this Friday and will be spending the next two weeks together,” he says, handing him an envelope as provided by Lou. “Here are the documents concerning itineraries and agendas and a history of the place, or the company-”

“Dad,” Harry’s sputtering, taking the envelope but still staring at him.

“Mr. Horan will be assessing your work and will report back to me regarding your performance,” he says, straight to the point.

“Wait, hold on a moment,” Harry's muttering, shaking his head and waving his hands around. His rings glint in the light and Niall snorts, barely heard. Harry glares at him quickly before turning his attention back to his father. “Dad, he's going to be in charge of me? What does that mean?”

“Exactly that,” he answers. “You do as he says, you follow his orders.”

“This one?” Harry says, sounding outraged as he points at Niall. “He's in charge of me?”

Niall smirks at him, and he's enjoying this far too much.

“Yes.”

“Dad-”

“It's simple enough, Harry,” he says. “Work with children, their education and nutrition, their emotions and general welfare. It's what The Playground has been doing for the past fifteen years. I know you’re quite good with kids, if how you've been so kind to the staff’s children is any indication. This should be easy enough.”

“Dad,” Harry’s frowning at him. “This isn't fair.”

“If you show that you're responsible enough to handle this, then I'll allow you to return to Paris, if you still wish to do so,” Prince Desmond tells him intently. “You're free to do as you wish, as long as Mr. Horan’s evaluation should prove favorable to you. I won't stop you from doing whatever it is you want, as long as you can show that you can handle responsibility. His organization will receive additional funding, and you’ll have something new to experience. It will be good for you to do.”

Harry states at his father, then to Niall, then back. Then when he looks back at Niall, his eyes are slits, and he's got this mad scowl on his face that makes Niall want to laugh. Looks too much like a kitten for him to take that seriously.

“So my fate depends on this one, then,” he grits out, gesturing to Niall.

“If I may, Your Highness,” Niall cuts in, voice thick with artificial sweetness. “Your fate depends on you.”

Harry just a frowns even more.

“I look forward to working with you, Your Highness,” he says with a slight nod. Harry scoffs, flips him off with his hands on his lap, unseen to mostly everyone but him. He chokes back a laugh, settles for a smug beam instead.

.

“Yes, Ni, come in,” Rochelle beckons him inside her office, in a bit of a tip at the moment. “Sorry, just cleaning up.”

“No problem,” he says, hitching his bag higher over his shoulders. “Just came by to say I’ll be off soon.”

“Oohhh, yes, yes,” she says, grinning at him. “Your fortnight with the fittest lad in the country-”

“That’s just not realistic, at all,” he sighs, adjusting the handle of his luggage. “I’ll be checking in with updates everyday, let you know how the offices are doing there-”

“Yes, yes, but you’ve got to take pictures and video, I want to see how he interacts with children,” she says, a glint in her eyes. “Oh, and should anything, hmm, _enticing,_ occur-”

She throws a paper bag at him, which he deftly catches with a confused look. He looks inside, groans at the contents. “Mummy Roch, we won’t be _shagging,_ christ.”

“You never know!” she exclaims, smiling widely, before she takes a peek behind her blinds at the sound of sirens, and says, “Seems like he’s just arrived, don’t understand why these people need so many cars. Or security. Four Range Rovers seem to be a bit much-”

‘Alright, bye Mum,” he calls out, waving and pushing the bag in Liam’s hands as he passes by his cubicle.

“What is this?”

“For you and Zayn,” he mutters, leans over and taking his face in his hands, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Wish me luck with the Frog. See you in two weeks.”

“Make good choices,” Liam says to him as he’s walking away, and he waves to let him know he heard.

When he makes it outside, he’s a little surprised to see Paul standing outside one of the cars, by the door. “Mr. Horan, good morning.”

“Good morning,” he parrots, and his luggage and backpack are taken from him by other guards to be stowed away in another car, but he holds on to his black leather travel bag, holding the strap tightly as he turns to Paul. “Miracle that he’s kind of on time.”

“I dragged him out of bed myself,” he replies, and Niall doesn’t doubt that he’s telling the truth.

“Is he in there? Why won’t he go down to greet everyone?”

“He’s not gotten enough sleep last night, and expressed his desire to rest throughout the journey,” he replies simply, and Niall lets out a small noise of understanding.

“Hungover, then.”

“He and Lord Viscount were very much preoccupied with the contents of the Duchess’s liquor cabinet,” he says, straight-faced, and that’s what sets Niall off laughing. Knows he’s going to like Paul and his dry humor and no-shits-taken attitude.

“Lord Viscount?”

“Louis, his cousin, Mr. Horan.”

“Niall’s fine, preferred, actually,” he says, waving off the formal name. “So in which car will I be riding?”

“With His Highness, Niall-”

He groans loudly. “Don’t tell me that’s true.”

Paul just smirks at him, opens the car door nearest to him, and Niall can see Harry, slumped in his seat and dozing off as his head rests against the glass on his side of the car. “Got a tight schedule, we best be off, then.”

He scowls at him, but gets in anyway, makes sure to sit as far away from Harry as possible, practically melting to his door.

“Prat,” he hears suddenly, and he glares at Harry, whose eyes are still closed as he burrows even further into his side of the car.

“So you’re awake,” Niall coughs loudly, brings out a file from his bag. “Then we can do our briefing, then-”

“Niall,” Harry pokes his head out from his jumper, knitted and it looks rather scratchy, but Harry curls into it like a kitten. Niall is oddly endeared. “Please. We’ve got over two hours of traveling ahead of us. Can’t we do the briefing sometime then? Please? I’m sorry, but I genuinely am tired.”

Niall stares at him, sees how red his eyes are, how he actually does look like he’s about to nod off. He sighs, and puts away the folder, “Alright. You’ll need your energy, Your Highness.”

“I told you, Harry’s fine,” he replies, already pulling the collar of the jumper up to his chin and leaning his head back on his headrest. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, and he’s asleep, curling up into a ball and Niall has to bite his cheek to stop himself from cooing, because what the fuck.

Frog. He’s a Frog. But.

“Sleep well, Harry,” he murmurs, before leaning back in his own seat as they drive off to the airport.

.

They end up speaking on the plane, as it turns out.

They’re escorted to a private jet, and Niall watches Harry shuffle along slowly, with the grace of a baby deer, looking very much like one in headlights, as he ambles up the steep stairs up to the plane. He hands him a paracetamol from his small first-aid kit in his bag, and Harry stares at the pill for a moment, before taking it with a quiet “Thank you.”

“Not used to getting hungover?” he asks, sitting down across him. He shakes his head, so Niall asks, “Not to sound judgemental or accusatory, Harry, but with the amount of partying you’ve been reported to be doing. I’d have figured you’d be better at it.”

“I am, just not when the alcohol involved happens to be several bottles of expensive, aged cognac from 1811, a cognac from Nan’s Silver Jubilee, and two bottles of vintage whiskey, Linkwood-Glenlivet, from 1898. Collectively must have cost over 30,000 quid-”

“ _Jesus,_ ” Niall says, frowning at the obscenity of the cost. “You should be dead from that amount of alcohol.”

“Maybe,” Harry replies, taking the pill with a sip of water. He looks dead tired. “Briefing?”

“I’ll make this short,” Niall says, taking pity on him, because he’s not heartless. “Once we arrive to Dublin, we’ll be driving up to Mullingar, roughly an hour and a half away. We’ve been working with St. Jerome’s Center for Children for the past seven years now, helping provide kids with essential material needs. Recently we’ve been focusing on their education, especially with the older ones who’ll be aging out of the orphanage soon. Provide them with opportunities to learn in university if they so wished, or livelihood programs. For this visit, though, we’ll be focusing on the younger ones, those in pre-school. Many of them don’t even know how to read by age four, so we provide help as much as we can.”

“Well, shit,” Harry says, sounding sleepy, but Niall sees his effort to stay awake. Nice to see him be decent, for once.

“More than that, though, The Playground wants to ensure that the children don’t feel abandoned, though they are orphans. We provide emotional support where it can be offered, when the children need it, and semi-regular trips to parks, theme parks, museums, the like. To get their minds off of everything else.”

“Well, I think I may have underestimated you,” Harry says, and Niall snorts. “You’re still no shit, though.”

“Likewise, but thank you,” he says, turning the page to see what else he needs to be briefed on. “We’ll be staying in. Well. Shit.”

“What?”

Niall frowns as he reads the document. Roch will be getting an earful about this when he gets back. “We’ll be staying in my old house in Mullingar-”

“What?”

“Don’t expect too much, it’s very small and probably very much below the standards of what you’re used to,” Niall says, frowning. Feels the slightest bit upset, because that house has many memories, and he’s never gone back with someone else in tow before. Not even Greg. “It’s less than half an hour’s drive from the center, but we have to leave by six in the morning everyday for the next two weeks-”

“What?!”

“There’ll be much to do and prep for each day, so it’s a necessary evil,” he tells him, adjusts the glasses on his face. “We’ll be having breakfast and lunch there with the kids, and we’ll be home before supper.”

“And what do we eat then?”

“I’ll be cooking,” Niall says simply, because it’s what he’s always done, every time he comes here. “I’m not a bad cook. Probably not up to the standards of the chefs in Buckingham, but I’ll do, for the next two weeks. Unless Paul knows how to-”

“You’re funny, Irish,” Paul scoffs, and Niall just shrugs at the dismissal.

“Activities day to day may change, but this is the general outline. Prayer time-”

“Seriously?”

“It’s Ireland, we’re so Catholic we block off liquor sections during Easter so we don’t get tempted,” Niall shrugs again, before going on to say, “then breakfast. Then school, basic maths, science, english, etc. Storytime also a must. Nap time if they’re in pre-school, after they have their lunch. Then playtime in the playground or coloring time, depends on what they want to do. Sometimes we have crafts. I’ll give you detailed daily briefings for the next two weeks.”

“Can’t wait,” Harry says dryly, and Niall snorts again, feeling rather tired himself, all of a sudden. “Mind if I sleep?”

“Don’t seem to have much say in the matter,” Niall replies, Harry already dozed off.

.

They don’t speak in the drive from Dublin to Mullingar, because Niall turns out to be the one to take a kip as soon as they get in the car from the airport. It’s not a terribly long drive, and it feels like barely any time had passed before the door he’d been leaning on is suddenly opened.

He yelps, the horrible sensation of falling making his heart race for the briefest of moments, before he’s caught. Lands on a body, soft but firm, pressed against a tanned chest, inked swallows peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt.

“Oh, christ,” he mutters, scrambling off of Harry, pushes him away, while Harry snickers at his flushed state. “Why’d you take your jumper off, you wanker-”

“We’re here? I think,” he replies, “This your place?”

Niall pauses, then looks up. They’ve parked by a small, unassuming house, completely alike to the others next to it, right down to the brick wall separating the front lawn from the pavement. It’s vintage, charming in the way old houses look, but it looks rather abandoned, which it was, except for the few times Niall goes here every year. He has it professionally cleaned after he leaves, every time, can’t see it fall into decay and disarray. It doesn’t look quite lived in, anymore. Hasn’t for a long time since it was passed down to him.

“Yes,” he answers Harry’s query curtly, grips on to the strap of his bag tighter. “Um, follow me.”

He walks past the front gate, unlocks the door and ushers in everyone to the living room. Steels his face into something neutral as memories flood into his head, and looks over to Harry, who’s looking around the place.

“It’s very you,” Harry says eventually, glancing at him.

“Cheap?” Niall snorts.

“Jesus, I’m not out to insult you all the time, Niall,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I was going to say ‘warm.’”

He freezes, doesn’t know what to say, staring at Harry, who just smirks at him. Niall clears his throat, then says to the room in general, “I’m sorry if it’s a bit small. I know it’s not as posh as what you’re used to, my family was really simple, but we got by. His Royal Highness did say to give you an immersion, so. You’ll get to know how the other side lives, then.”

“Exciting,” Harry says, and Niall snorts at him again.

“You’ll be taking my brother’s old room-”

“What?” Harry frowns, crossing his arms. “Why not the master bedroom? I mean, no offense to you or your family, but-”

“No,” Niall stops him firmly, glaring at him, “No, the master bedroom is not to be touched. Greg’s room will do. It’s big enough for your needs, it has a personal bathroom, mine is half its size if that makes you feel any better. That should be enough, Your Highness.”

“Harry, it’s Harry,” he waves him off, looking a little put out, but he doesn’t put up much more of an argument. “Fine, which one is it?”

“Upstairs, first door on the left side of the hall,” Niall says, “I’ll unlock it in a bit.”

“Okay,” Harry says, but Niall doesn’t look at him again the rest of the day.

.

It’s just after half five in the morning when Niall’s done getting ready, packed his laptop and iPad and phone and every charger he has, materials and gifts for the kids, gifts for The Playground team based here, and simple snacks for himself, Harry, and the security team of five that had remained in Mullingar with them.

He’s stalking up the stairs, without a shadow of doubt convinced that Harry isn’t even awake yet, and is about to wrench the door open to Greg’s old room, when the guard stationed there holds his hand out, stopping him from entering.

“Sorry, Mr. Horan, but His Highness had just gotten to sleep and he had requested that he not be disturbed.”

Niall sighs, steps back a bit, ruffling his hair in exhaustion. Looks at the guard kindly, because he looks tired too, and he asks, “What’s your name, mate?”

He looks a little surprised, but he replies, “Basil, sir.”

“Hi, Basil, I'm Niall,” he offers his hand to greet him. They shake hands, and he's saying, “I know you’re supposed to be following His Highness’s orders, but in case he’s forgotten, I was made to be in charge of this immersion by Prince Desmond, yeah? As far as I am aware, that makes me his boss, at least for the duration of this trip.”

“Sir-”

“I was put in charge, so what I say goes,” Niall tells him, keeps the smile on his face. “If he has any complaints, he can complain to his father, but I’m sure it won’t be about you, mate. His complaints will be directed towards me, and frankly, I’m not that scared of him. It’s alright. I’ll wake him up, okay?”

Basil stares at him, perplexed, before he nods and steps back, assuming his previous position.

Niall nods at him, internally relieved because he was not expecting that to work actually, and he’s opening the door to his brother’s old room. Is a bit surprised to see it rather clean, untouched other than Harry’s luggage in the corner and his phone and wallet on the desk. Had expected him to completely take over the room, trash his belongings everywhere and what not. Definitely not this.

Harry’s slumped in the bed, curled up into a ball with the duvet up to his chin, curls sprawled out everywhere, and Niall feels the slightest bit guilty for cutting his sleep short. More than that, though, he’s looking forward to the scowl he knows Harry’s going to give him when he wakes up.

He sits by the edge of the mattress, and pokes Harry’s shoulder. “Your Highness.” Doesn’t get a response. “Your _Highnesssssss_ -”

He pokes harder, and when that doesn’t make Harry stir, he attacks the duvet, poking and pinching everywhere and squeezing at every lump he can feel beneath the covers, and he laughs when Harry starts groaning, trying to twist away from him but he doesn’t relent, until Harry’s sitting up suddenly  and giving him a reproachful look, but Niall can’t quite focus on that, doesn’t take as much pleasure in it as he thought he would. Because Harry is very, very _naked,_ he’s quite sure. Tattoos skin on display, inked over hard muscle and soft looking hips that Niall wants to bite into, _what the fuck,_ and he is so so so sure he’s naked, because he can see the curve of his arse where the duvet isn’t covering him.

“What do you want?!”

“Are you naked?!”

They’re yelling at the same time, and NIall’s immediately blushing at the words that come out of his mouth, didn't mean to voice any of that. Harry just stares at him, clearly too tired to look cheeky or embarrass him any further, and he lies back down and pulls the covers back over himself, and Niall’s done blushing and they need to _go-_

“Harry, wake the fuck up,” he says, squeezing at the duvet again and hoping that he’s not actually cupping his arse, and Harry sits back up, gives up and says, “Okay! Okay, I’m up, I’m up!”

“See? I knew you could do it,” Niall says, a little smug, more flustered, and he gets up from the bed and says over his shoulder, “Get up, don’t lie back down again, we’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry’s muttering behind him, and Niall can hear him rustling to get out of bed. It’s good enough for him, doesn’t feel any urgent need to look back and check if he’s actually doing it. Would rather not see Harry nude as the day he was born, if he could help it.

.

“Agenda for today,” he's saying as he's handing out the sandwiches he'd made earlier around the car, and he smiles when they thank him quietly in turn. “We join them after prayer time, that's until half seven, here Harry-”

“No, thank you, I'm fine,” he refuses the sandwich with a shake of his head, and Niall frowns a bit.

“You won't get to eat until after a few hours.”

“I'm fine,” he reiterates,

Niall frowns, and starts waving it under his nose. “Are you on one of those stupid juice diets?”

“I'm not hungry, I just had coffee.”

“Is this the one with the butter that you made in the kitchen?” he scowls, remembering how much he had wanted to gag when he watched, appalled, as Harry had dropped a teaspoonful of butter into his black coffee. “That can't be healthy.”

“I doubt that is either,” Harry snipes back, and Niall frowns again.

“You're going to need it, we've got a long day ahead of us,” Niall says, forcibly grabbing Harry's hand and placing the sandwich in his palm. “Please, for my peace of mind. Don't want you feeling dizzy later on.”

“Fine,” Harry eventually relents unwrapping the sandwich and taking careful bites, and Niall just continues.

“Today is more of an orientation type thing. We’re touring the kids around the new facilities funded by the Duchess after breakfast, and the usual schedule for the rest of the day. Lunch, then we’re taking care of the first graders today. They have class and then they have reading time for an hour, then we leave. I've printed out detailed schedules for everyone to follow should you be lost, and we should be fine. Alright, Your Highness?”

“Harry,” he corrects again, but he's nodding, and replying, “Yes, I've got it.”

“Should you need any help, I'm more than willing to lend you a hand,” Niall says, “They’re good kids, but it takes some of them a bit of time before they really warm up to you. Some of them are too nice, right away. It can get a bit much, so, if you find yourself overwhelmed-”

“I've got it,” Harry repeats, and he's switched his phone on and is already typing a second later.

Niall sighs, wishing that he were mean enough to grab the phone and throw it out the window, but he stays put, and hands out the juice boxes to the security team, ending up chatting with them instead for the rest of the drive.

.

“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Niall mutters exactly what he's feeling when they drive up to the orphanage, an old building made of stone, archway after archway and it’s beautiful in the way it’s so medieval. They've put up a tarp up front welcoming him, and what looks like all of the kids are crowding the entrance to get a look at Harry. The employees are all outside waiting, many of them with their phones out and screaming as they see the car roll up. “You get this everywhere?”

“It’s something of a regular occurrence,” Harry replies, and his head is starting to hurt from the noise.

“Figured someone like you would be used to this kind of attention.”

“Well. I’m not, and I’m not particularly fond of it, either,” Harry says, and he just nods to Paul in the front, and he’s a little glad that he did eat that sandwich. Doesn’t feel so much like shit right now, feels good to have something in his stomach to somewhat quell his nerves. He goes out of the car after Paul opens his door, hears Niall exit from the other side, and everyone’s swarming around him. He fixes a smile on his face, shakes hands with everyone and stares into so many camera phones and screens that his headache worsens, a bit. He tries, tries, until he can’t. Looks over to where Paul is standing nearby and gives him a subtle shake of his head, and Paul’s moving immediately, gets to him and forms a single-man shield around him.

“Sorry, folks, he’s having a bit of a headache,” Paul’s saying over the crowd, and they’re letting out small noises of disappointment but he can’t be too bothered to feel even remotely bad about it now. “Your Highness-”

“Come on, everyone,” he hears Niall try to reel everyone in, can hear many of the children squeal when they see him, little feet running up to greet him, and it provides a bit of a distraction, enough for him to be guided inside the building.

“I'm sorry for that, Your Royal Highness,” someone comes up to him, a little older than he is, tall and the slightest bit burly. Well built but kind looking all the same. He bows his head slightly and introduces himself, “I'm Niall Breslin, but if you'd like, you can call me Bressie. I'm assuming you've already been referring to someone else by my first name.”

“You'd be right, thank you, Bressie,” he says with a small smile, shaking his hand. “You know Niall, then?”

“Been my mate for many years,” he says, grins as he answers. “He's a good lad. If you could follow me, I'll be bringing you over to the Director of the orphanage.”

“So what do you do?” Harry asks him.

“Bressie’s head of operations of our Mullingar unit,” Niall answers for him a he catches up to them, beam on his face. “Best guy there is.”

“Missed you, Chief,” Bressie greets him with a ruffling of his hair, and, a bit to Harry’s surprise, a kiss to his cheek. He tries not to let it show, coughs a bit and fiddles with his shirt as they walk, but he can see Paul and Basil rolling their eyes at him.

“Okay, we’re here,” Niall says as they come to a stop in front of a door, unassuming and plain, and knocks once before opening it, ushering them all inside. Harry doesn’t look at him as he passes by him, instead focuses his attention on the elderly lady seated behind the desk.

She’s. A nun. Fantastic.

“Your Highness, this is Sister Loisa, she’s the Director of Operations here in St. Jerome’s,” Bressie says, and she smiles at him warmly.

“Prince Harry,” she greets him, and he smiles back, nodding at her small bow and shaking her hand in both of his. “I’m delighted to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, though not completely true, but she seems sweet enough, and he would hate to give her any grief while in her presence. “Thank you for welcoming me so warmly. I hope to do a great deal for the children here.”

“Thank you” she says, smiling even wider. “We were all so excited and nervous to find out you were coming here. It’s been a bit of a flurry to get everything ready for your arrival. All the children are very excited as well, if you didn’t already see.”

“Yes,” he says, not really knowing what else to add.

“I hope you enjoy your stay in Mullingar. It’s a quiet enough town, not very big, but not very small, either. It has a lot of heart, if you let it show itself to you. Might be a bit difficult to see at first, but it’s definitely there. Should you have the time, I would hope that you come to see it. Niall should take you out to see it, sometime.”

“Perhaps, should the schedule permit,” he says, a nicer way of saying that he doesn’t want to, really. Would like to see these two weeks over and done with as soon as possible and get back to London.

“Speaking of,” Niall’s saying, “I’ve got to get this one back on his own agenda for today. If you’ll excuse us-”

He leads him and the security team out of the room, and they’re entering a dining hall of sorts. Kind of reminds Harry of those in the _Potter_ films, high high ceilings and long running the length of the room, and there are workers helping bring out the breakfast for the kids. Plates of toast, eggs, and beans and jugs of milk, pitchers of orange juice, jars of jam and sticks of butter in little platters.

“First job of the day, Your Highness,” Niall tells him, “Helping set up the tables for the meals. We do clean-ups after as well, kids bring out their own plates and utensils and stuff, but we bring out the platters and extra food and everything. We eat with them, too.”

“Isn’t it easier if you just, like, made them line up or something,” Harry says, following Niall into the kitchens connected to the hall, where it’s hectic and loud with cooks yelling out orders and servers scrambling to bring out platters. “Give them their portions ready on a plate for them to pick up?”

“It would be easier, yeah,” Niall says, handing him a great, quite heavy platter of baked beans to carry out white balancing two plates of toast on one arm, “but these kids have all their meals here. We wouldn’t want them to feel like they’d be eating in a cafeteria for all their lives. The nuns, they thought this would be a nice way of letting them feel a bit of home. A normal meal, if you must.”

“Makes it hard for us, then.”

“Well, we’re not the priority, Your Highness,” he replies, face still holding a small smile, as if to tease. “Must be something new for you to experience, then?”

Harry frowns, because it’s not true, and he opens his mouth to say just that, but Niall’s already walking off out the doors back to the hall, arms laden with platters, balanced perfectly as he seamlessly navigates his way through the nuns and volunteers bustling around to get ready for breakfast. Harry struggles to follow with his one platter of beans.

By the time half seven rolls around and the breakfast prep is over, Harry feels ready to drop. Had just been following Niall around and doing everything he tells him to do, has probably carried twice his weight in food from the kitchens to the dining hall, and by the time the kids are coming in the the chapel, he's just not in any sort of mood to interact with anyone.

He sits himself down in a more secluded corner, shakes his head at Basil’s and Paul’s motions to approach him, and closes his eyes, tries to block out everything around him. Difficult, what with the noise surrounding him bloody everywhere, the incessant squealing of hundreds of children and such so early in the day. He can already tell that this won’t be a good one.

Just his luck, as someone, presumably very small, approached him with a small pitter patter of their feet, and he hears them say, voice high pitched and thickly laced with an accent, “Hello.”

He opens an eye, and sees this girl, tiny, can't be more than four years old, eyes wide and blue and skin so, so pale. Her hair is a deep red, almost burgundy, and she gives him a small smile. She's adorable, but he's tired.

“I'm sorry, love,” he says, tries to sound amiable, but he knows it's thin on his voice. Can just tell that there's a bite to his tone that he can't quite hide. “But I'm quite tired and not in the best of moods.”

She doesn't say anything, but comes even nearer. Walks around the table so she's standing right in front of him, and she stares up at him patiently.

“No that's not - love, I'm sorry, but I'd really quite like to rest. Alone.”

She seems unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm, and she's reaching inside her little jacket, and Harry closes his eyes again, can't quite deal with this so early on in the day.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I really don't want to. Please.”

“Hi, there, love,” he hears a familiar voice call out, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees Niall crouching down next to the girl, gives her this warm smile and his eyes look so kind.

“Nialler,” she turns her attention from Harry, to him, almost instantly, and wraps her arms over Niall’s neck. “Nialler, hi.”

“Hi,” he says back, and it’s the softest Harry’s heard him speak. Sounds so fond and it makes his chest thud involuntarily, makes him frown at the unwelcome sensation. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

She doesn’t speak, just brings out a small little flower from her jacket, stem short and the flower looking as if it’s just recently bloomed. It’s a small thing, looks hardly anything in her small hand.

“Is that for Harry?” Niall asks her softly, and Harry chooses to tune the rest of this out. Feels an unpleasant throb in his head. Hates the early hour, all the much more.

“Harry,” he’s saying a while later, “This is Eilis. Spells like ‘ _E-I-L-I-S_ ,’ says like ‘ _Ay-lish_ ’-”

“Good to know,” he says dismissively, knows the cold tone in his voice is all too heard.

Instantly, Niall goes dead quiet, and though the bustle of all the other children and workers are going on around them, his silence is deafening. Makes Harry immediately uneasy, though he knows that this would be the outcome, more or less.  
“Alright, Eilis, His Highness isn’t in the mood, we can give this to him later,” Niall’s voice is clipped, but not harsh, not towards her. He doesn’t even spare him a look as he herds her away, holding her tiny hand at her quiet request. Harry isn’t bothered again, but he suspects it’s only because Niall’s decided he wasn’t worth the time.

.

He’s not very participative, this time. He has a bit of breakfast, sat away in a corner of the dining hall, watching the kids sit themselves down, and, to his surprise, eat properly and orderly, helping each other and offering each other morsels of toast and jam or eggs and chatting and laughing and. It does remind him of what he thinks a family is like. It leaves him feeling strange and with this twisting sensation in his chest.

Niall doesn’t bother with him, choosing instead to sit with the kids and helping out by pouring milk or juice into their glasses, helping them cut up their bread and eggs and whatnot, being generally like sunshine with them while not once looking over to him. He supposes he deserves it, but it leaves him feeling very much like he doesn’t want him to do that. Makes him frown at himself, because what the fuck.

Doesn’t get better from that point; after breakfast, they bring the kids around the new playground and classrooms, provided very generously by his mum, as per Niall’s enthusiastic explanations to the children, and he hangs back with Paul and Basil, observing quietly as Niall takes over, easily, effortlessly. Brings them around and is so bloody charming and lovely to them that it makes Harry grudgingly endeared, as much as he doesn’t want to be. He tries not to let the fact that no one since Eilis had approached him thus far get to him. He gets an almost never ending stream of curious glances his way, but no one seems to have had the courage to actually walk up to him, and while a few hours ago this was desirable, it makes him more disappointed than not, at the moment.

He follows Niall around as they jump from class to class, and he hangs around awkwardly as he observes the kids learning about rhyming and adding and subtracting and reading, being general angels following the human personification of the sun, who still isn’t paying any sort of attention to him.

It’s near the end of the day, when the kids are done with their lessons for the day and are getting ready for supper, and Harry knows that he can finally, _finally,_ go back to Niall’s place, when Niall finally speaks to him again. It’s when Harry’s got his coat on and is asking Paul to get the car around when Niall tells him curtly, “We’re not done yet.”

“What?” Harry’s frowning at him, but the stare Niall gives him makes him cower a little. “What’s there left to do? We’ve done everything you said was in the agenda today, it’s almost five-”

“You’re welcome to wait in the car, but I’m just telling you, we’re not done,” Niall tells him, and he goes off, nodding at Basil as he hands him several bags and leaving without another word.

Harry lets out a frustrated grunt, and he barely refrains from kicking the wall. He’s transparent, though, and Paul doesn’t hide his laughter.

“Would you like to wait in the car Your Highness?” Paul asks him, smirking. “I can have them bring the car around and turn on the heating nice and low-”

Harry frowns at him, says “Shut it, Paul,” before he’s stalking after Niall. Finds him in the back, in the open courtyard, which isn’t exactly warm, the cold nipping at his nose and making his lips all chapped and dry, but it does nothing to deter the droves of children surrounding Niall, who’s beaming and laughing with them as he tries to get them organized, keeps on telling them to calm down, “ _I’ll get to you, hold on! No need to be so rowdy._ ”

“He does this every time he comes back,” someone’s saying, and Harry jumps the slightest bit. Hears laughter and sees that it’s Bressie standing next to him, watching the scene unfold before them. “Always brings stuff around for everyone, and it’s not just like candies or treats or anything. The kids ask for stuff, and he gets it for them, like, no fail.”

“He buys gifts? For everyone?” he says, frowning. “No, that’s way too many-”

“He does,” Bressie just nods again, “The kids don’t ask for big gifts or anything. The boys mostly just want those little matchbox cars, and the girls, those ugly little animals with the bobbing heads? Don’t know why, but they like ‘em, and he gets it for them. At least for the younger kids. The older ones like books, so he gets them those.”

“But, why? He can’t be earning all that much, why would he spend everything he has on these kids?”

“Well, no one else will, so,” he trails off, his smile getting softer. Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t, and turns his attention back to the children, now sitting neatly in little groups around Niall as he brings out these gifts for them, one by one, like Father Christmas. The smile on his face is wide, genuine makes his eyes crinkle and scrunch up endearingly. It occurs to Harry, not for the first time, that Niall is an infinitely better person than he is. “And he likes doing it. He’s just kind, through and through. No one asks him to do it, the kids would just be happy to have him here. But he asks them what they want, before he leaves, so next time, he has something to give them.”

“Well, you’re all kind.”

“He’s another level, though,” Bressie says, just a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s not like we don’t like what we’re doing, Your Highness, we do. But Niall, he really loves it. Like he’s meant to do it, really, especially with his history.”

“History?” he repeats curiously.

“Oh, I’m sorry, thought you knew,” Bressie says, “ask him about it, not my place to tell, really.”

Harry hums a bit, watches as one of the kids, blonde and blue-eyed, launches himself at Niall and clings on to him, making him laugh in surprise. It’s so sickeningly heartwarming, and he wishes Niall weren’t so nice, so he wouldn’t feel so bad about himself.

“You close to him, then?” Harry asks, remembering then the way the two of them seemed so comfortable with each other, the effortless kiss on the cheek he’d given Niall. Then Bressie laughs, short and loud, making him jump a little.

“You fancy him, then, Your Highness?”

“What? No, He’s a twat - shit, don’t tell anyone I said that,” he stutters, making him snicker all the more. “I mean, I might have hit on him a bit, before, but that was before we properly met. Now he’s just out to make me miserable-”

“Well, I highly doubt that,” he says, “Niall’s not mean, unless. You must have done something to make him cross with you, something to those close to him, maybe? He’s got a high tolerance, and he doesn’t really get all that angry when it’s directed towards him, but when it comes to the kids or his friends or the job, that’s when he can shut you out.”

Harry opens his mouth slightly, then closes it again, because he seems to be guilty of all of the above. Bressie must take it as an answer, because he laughs again, shaking his head a little bit.

“Yeah, we’re close, he’s my Chief,” he then says, and Harry’s confused for a bit before he makes the connection and realize his question’s being answered. “But our relationship’s not like that. You’re right welcome to try and court him, if you wanted-”

“Like he’d ever even agree to a date with me,” Harry snorts, but he can’t quite hide the wave of relief washing over his body, showing on his face, and it makes him all the more frustrated and confused. If Bressie sees it, he doesn’t say anything.

.

The ride back to the house is alarmingly quiet, and Niall does his utmost to stay as far away from his as possible. Doesn’t look at him once, doesn’t say a single thing, and it drives Harry up the wall a little. He knows he brought this upon himself, but he’d never thought that Niall would be the type to hold a grudge, but then again. He doesn’t know him very well, and as much as he wouldn’t want to admit it, it is a shame.

They’re back, unloading the car and Harry tries to help with the shopping that Niall had done on the way back for supper, but his help is shoved away, and he’s not particularly patient, but this is getting to him, much more than he thought it would.

He glares at the back of Niall’s head as they head into the kitchen, and it’s when the veg and the meat is being laid out on the counter to be prepped for the meal that he blows up.

“Will you look at me, you wanker?!” he says, just short of yelling, and it makes the air go still around them. The guards stand up straighter, all of a sudden, and Niall pauses in his movements, but doesn’t make any move to do as he asks. Typical. “What the fuck is your problem? Just because I wasn’t in the mood to talk to the kid-”

“Lads, please, leave us,” Niall says then, voice as serious as Harry’s ever heard it, and they follow his word, leaving them alone in the room. The air is thick, and Harry doesn’t like it. Can feel himself choking on it a little, and it makes his chest go tight, uncomfortable.

“You not going to say anything to me, then?” he bites out, after what feels like several minutes of silence. Niall still hasn’t looked at him, not once.

“That little girl didn’t do anything to warrant that kind of reaction from you, you selfish shit,” Niall says, finally. Turns to look at him, and his blue eyes have never looked colder. “She’s four years old. Who the fuck gave you the license to be so fucking shitty, you prick?”

“I just wasn’t feeling like it!” he says, though he knows it’s a terrible excuse. It is the truth, though. “I’m sorry, but I was tired, exhausted from everything you were making me do, just throwing me into all of this. I’m not a mean person.”

“You’re doing a real nice job of proving that wrong, Your Highness.”

“God! What do you want me to do?” he shouts, his voice cracking at the end. “Do you want me to apologize to her? I will! I feel pretty fucking awful about it! I know she didn’t deserve to be treated like that, I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“I don’t know!” he says, shaking his head. Tries to keep his composure, but it’s all going to shit. Didn’t even last one day, fuck. “I’m sorry, shit, Niall. I really am, but I’m not used to this. You’re the social worker, not me.”

Niall scoffs then, looking venomous. “Why do you need to shit on my work? The work The Playground does? We’re doing our best to give these kids a chance so they can have a life, why do you have to dismiss it so easily?”

“Fuck, I’m not, that’s not what I was saying,” Harry says, and his words are getting jumbled in his brain, coming out meaningless as he says them. “I’m trying, I really am. I know you’re doing great work, and it’s amazing, but I don’t think you understand that I’m having a hard time. You made me get up at arse o’clock in the morning, made me do all this shit and made me work, and I just wasn’t in the right state of mind to be all chummy with a little kid. Forgive me, if that makes me an awful person.”

“Not accepted,” Niall says, voice like ice. “I cannot believe. You’re supposed to be innately charming, aren’t you? I don’t know much about the way the crown works or anything, but I do know that you lot are trained to be respectful, diplomatic and shit. I know your mum does her share, so does your sister. Your dad does regular work with the soldiers, makes sure they get treated properly and shit. I would have thought that you’d get a bit of that gene.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but not because Niall’s completely right. He feels like his blood is boiling beneath his skin, and it’s making his judgement cloudy. He has to bite his lip just so he doesn’t spew out anything stupid, but it’s difficult.

“Just because you’ve been privileged all your life,” Niall says, “makes you think you can just act this way? Just because you’re a prince, seventh in line or some shit, makes you think that you’re entitled to whatever you want? Grow the fuck up, nothing revolves around you-”

“And don’t you think I know that?” Harry yells at him then, and Niall looks so taken aback. “Fuck, I’ve known that my entire life. I know I’m shit, I know I’m not acting the proper way, I know that I’m letting a lot of people down. Fuck, but I never asked to be a prince. I never asked to be in this position, I never wanted to be a royal, you don’t know anything! You think just because I’m in this family, it means I can get and do anything I want? Fuck no, you haven’t got any clue on how it really is to be in this family.”

“Your Highness-”

“God, stop calling me that!” he says, and god, he’s tired. “I’m doing my best, but I never asked for this life. I’m trying to do right by my mum, and Gems and my cousins and everyone, but it’s like I’ve never even had a real choice but to be _this._ You’ve got no idea. Just because I’m privileged, it doesn’t mean that this life is easy. It never has been. I’ve never been given permission to be myself. You’ve got no right to talk about me like that, as if you know what it’s like to be me, in my position. You don’t know how it is to live a life that isn’t your own, where you can’t make your own mistakes and learn from them, because someone else has done that for you already. You’ve got no idea.”

He stops then, running out of words, his chest heaving, and he feels slightly dizzy from yelling so much. Sits himself down by the dining table, and it feels like a load’s been lifted off of him. He’s never really had a chance to speak about any of this, with anyone other than Louis, and even then, he’s never just let it all out. It’s freeing, terrifying. Unexpected.

Niall doesn't speak for a long while, just stands by the counter quietly. It's at least several minutes before he says, in a gentler, softer tone, “I'm sorry, for assuming. And, well. That you can't be yourself. I don't know how you feel, I don't know what it's like for you. I'm sorry.”

Harry doesn't reply, leans his forehead against his palm. The slight ache in his head from shouting so much hasn't completely disappeared, and Niall must understand, because he slides a glass of water in front of him. Unfailingly kind and thoughtful, despite how much of a shit Harry's been.

“I cannot pretend, though, to forgive you. Your life is difficult, I understand that now,” he says, and his voice is still soft, but the words are firm. “And I don't want to compare, but these kids. They don't really have a choice, either. And that's why we help them. Because they should be given that opportunity. I think you might have a little bit of an idea, to want that.”

Harry doesn't say anything, then. Knows that Niall is right, and maybe. He of all people, really, should get what he's saying.

“I know you're a prince, I knew that there are so many things expected of you. I underestimated that,” he says. “But I'm not asking you to be a prince, Harry. These children aren't, either. I could honestly give less of a fuck, if you’re a royal. I don’t care about that, you’re supposed to be a decent human being, before anything. I hope you understand that.”

The words hit him harder than he expects. Makes his breath catch in his throat, and it’s just dawning on him now, how he might not have meant to be so problematic. But it will hurt people, regardless, if he means it or not. He looks at Niall then, and he looks resigned. A little disappointed, and somehow, that more than anything makes him feel truly awful.

Niall sighs a bit, scratching at his head. Turns back to the food, and starts slicing up the carrots. “You should rest up, a bit. I’ll call you when the food’s ready.”

He doesn’t say anything, after that, and Harry takes that as his leave. Gets up from the chair and watches Niall for a bit, tries to see what he can do, but his brain comes up short. He goes up to the room, feeling all conflicted and awful. Knows that he has to do better, for all parties, maybe, mostly, for himself.

.

The next day starts out a bit smoother. He wakes up on his own, is even ready by the time Niall knocks on his door at half five. Even helps a bit with snacks for the security team, and though Niall stays quiet, he can tell that he's appreciating his effort. It's not easy, and he has to bite his tongue, several times, just to stop himself from complaining, but he's doing his best.

He takes it upon himself to try to learn the names of the staff, the volunteers, the nuns. Does it while helping out in the kitchens, making the eggy bread, and he knows Niall's watching him warily, keeping his eye on him, and it just makes him want to prove himself, a little. Just show he's not completely a piece of shit, that while he may not like being a prince, he can do this. He can be a good person. Is one, and he doesn’t exactly know why, but he wants Niall to know that, more than anyone.

He’s tired, by the time breakfast rolls in, and he stays in the same corner, just catching his breath for a bit as the kids start coming around for the meal. It doesn't take long, though, before someone's walking up to him, the same soft footsteps.

“Hello,” the voice says, even quieter from the day before. It hits him, viciously, that that's because he'd been so indifferent, the day before. Looks up then, and it's the same little girl, and it occurs to him how shy she seems to be. Makes him feel worse off.

“Hi,” he tries, though his muscles are aching and his brain is struggling to catch up with him. Gives her a small smile.

She doesn't speak for a bit, then she's taking out a flower from a pocket, a small daisy, looks like it's just bloomed. She offers it to him, and he's a little dumbfounded. Looks up from the flower, up at her face, back and forth.

“That for me?”

She nods in reply, shaking it a bit, and he takes it from her. His hand trembles slightly, and he swallows at the unexpected kindness.

“What for?” he asks her softly, and she shrugs a bit.

“Why not?” she tells him, accent strong and adorable. “I wanted to.” She answers him simply, like its nothing to her, to be so nice, and Harry ends up speechless. Holds on to the daisy tightly, and leans down to talk to her better.

“I'm Harry,” he says gently, holds out his other hand for her to shake. “I'm sorry, for yesterday. I was just tired.”

“It's okay,” she says shyly, and her hand is so small within his. “I get mad too when I'm sleepy. But Nialler told me that you weren't so bad.”

He can't help but smile at that, and he asks her, “What's your name, then, love? I’m sorry, I didn’t manage to get it, yesterday.”

“Eilis,” she answers for him. “The other girls think you're very handsome. I think Nialler looks better.”

“Well,” he says, grinning a little; he doesn’t disagree. Feels better, already. One step at a time. He helps her sit on the bench next to him, and helps her pile some food on her plate. Feels stupidly emotional when she gives him her piece of toast, after she’d put loads of jam on it, and she’s quiet, as she eats, doesn’t say much except when prodded. Eilis is unfailingly kind, he discovers, much like Niall, but she doesn’t speak as much, or at all. It’s much more than he deserves, in any case.

He catches Niall’s eye, once, as he’s pouring her a glass of orange juice. He’s making his rounds, seeing if any of the kids need help with their food or whatnot, and Harry catches him looking over to their quiet little corner. The small smile on his face feels like a second chance.

He walks with Eilis to her first class of the day, and he sees then that even with the other kids, she seems very quiet, choosing to hang back with him and sits somewhere in the back as the class settles down, and the teacher’s writing these sentences out on the chalkboard.

Niall stands next to him as the lesson begins, and he tells him quietly, “She likes you.”

“I don’t know,” he replies. He doesn’t understand why she seems to take a liking to him.

“She’s shy,” Niall states the obvious. “She’s a little new, just been here a few months. Not very talkative at all, but she’s very sweet. The kids are nice enough, but you know how they are. If you don’t talk to them all the time, they lose interest.”

“How did she get here?”

“Someone brought her here, said she’d been sleeping in the park. The little bit we did get out of her was that her mum got sick and couldn’t get better. No family to take her in after.”  
Harry’s heart aches for her, and he feels the promise of tears stinging his eyes. “And the flower thing?”

“Does that for everyone, it’s her thing,” he answers. _Like your thing, too,_ Harry thinks, but doesn’t voice aloud. “Helped her make a little flower patch in the garden, back when she first got here. She’s there a lot, during breaks.”

Harry nods, and he doesn’t know what else to say. Watches her copy down the sentences on the board in her neat handwriting on a writing pad, her motions slow but careful. She offers her seatmate a piece of paper, when he ruins his after erasing too hard. He’s so stupidly fond, already.

“This is a start. You’re doing well,” Niall tells him, and it shocks him so much that he cricks his neck when he looks to him. “I knew you had it in you.”

He swallows his words, nothing seems right enough to say, and Niall just chuckles at him softly, patting his arm and moving to the front of the room to talk to the teacher. Harry still doesn’t know what to do next, realizes his mouth is still slightly open when Paul starts snickering at him, snapping his mouth shut with his great beast of a hand.

.

He starts getting used to the routine of it, slowly, within the next few days. Wake up, get ready, help with pre-breakfast snacks, daily briefing in the car while en route to the orphanage. Help with breakfast prep, sit with Eilis, and eventually a few more of the shyer kids, and have breakfast with them. He gets to know the other workers, the other children as well. Hops from classroom to classroom, pushes the swings for the girls during break, reads stories sometimes.

It’s difficult. It takes him almost a week to somehow be okay with it all. He can’t pretend that he’s miraculously changed, that he loves what he’s doing completely, that he’s somehow magically become a superhero of sorts to these kids or anything. It’s not always fun, but it is rewarding, in the end. Finds that he does care about the children, really.

He helps Niall shop for their supper, helps him with the cooking and the last meal of the day quickly becomes the best part of his routine. He and Niall grow to be more comfortable with one another, and their friendship is honesty, frankness and it’s exciting, but also very effortless. Niall laughs easily, tells stories about the kids and the other workers, and Harry finds himself growing fonder of him, not very reluctantly. Niall doesn’t reveal much about himself, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

.

Harry is much more ordinary than he had originally thought. He’s still a prince, still very much in touch with his inner spoiled rich kid mentalities, is still very into strange, expensive clothing, still just. Very odd, hipster twat. But he has proven that he is kind and thoughtful, sweet and considerate. He shows that he loves those kids, genuinely, and for Niall, it is a victory, of sorts. He's trying, and it's much more than he'd honestly expected.

Eilis had brought Harry to her small flower garden a few days after their first breakfast together, and by the time they were done for the day and about to leave, Harry had turned up to the car with several flowers, daisies and roses and the tiny little white ones that he can never remember the name of, braided into his locks, and he’d looked so pleased, a great beam on his face. It had been frustratingly adorable. It's not long until his reluctant endearment becomes real fondness, and it's easier than he thought it would be. Never was in the job prescription.

He learns many things about Harry. He likes to bake, makes an amazing white chocolate chip raspberry cookie. He likes photography, making Niall an unsuspecting subject many times over. He likes painting, he likes children, he likes having his hair played with. He’s a good singer. He likes poetry, he likes Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles and Bowie, Berlin Trilogy era particularly, as is proper, music for people much older than him. He’s very open about who he is, to those who are really willing to listen. Niall is strangely jealous, but tamps down any urge to say something about himself. The urge isn’t quite that strong, anyway.

.

He and Harry are in the middle of making sandwiches for the drive when Bressie calls in.

“ _Chief, forgot to tell you, shit._ ”

“What is it, Brez?” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he’s laying slices of bacon on top of the bread, Harry humming along to ‘Sound & Vision’ next to him as he layers the lettuce and tomato.

“ _There won’t be anyone here today,_ ” he tells him, making Niall pause. “ _The kids are going to Dublin, watch an exhibition game. The Green Army’s had the day planned for months, some sort of charity initiative._ ”

“Well, they’d need to do more to get in the public’s favour, this year’s been horrendous,” Niall says, frowning a little. “Well, we can come with, yeah?”

“ _We’re literally about to leave, Chief, I don’t think you’ll make it,"_ Bressie tells him. “ _You haven’t got tickets, either._ ”

“If I didn’t know you so well, Bressie, I’d think you were setting me and the Frog up for a day alone,” he says, and Harry huffs at him. He's not very fond of the nickname, but he's let it slide, thus far. Responds to it, anyway. Niall sighs, letting Harry finish up the sandwiches as he walks over to the dining table, sitting down as he thinks over what he's going to do. “Well, Sister Loisa will be well pleased to know I'll be bringing him around, then. No point staying here when we're already up.”

“ _Good lad,_ ” he replies. There's a lot of noise behind him, and Niall sighs again when he hears the kids laughing in the background, talking to one another. “ _Sorry again, Niall. Didn't mean to not tell you, promise._ ”

“It's alright,” he says, “have a good day. Tell them to have fun.”

“ _Will do,_ ” Bressie says, before ending the call with a quick goodbye.

“What was that?” Harry asks, mouth full of BLT. Some days, he’s a health freak, not so subtly demanding for leaves and kale and if they can’t be provided, he’ll drink his fucking coffee with the butter and coconut oil, concocted by the devil. Other days, he'll want waffles with fried chicken and pasta and pizza and ice cream. At the moment, his erratic eating pattern is the most annoying thing about him, an amazing development he'd never would have guessed.

“Can't go to the center today, kids are going to Dublin,” he replies, takes a bite from the sandwich Harry offers him. It's a thing they've become accustomed to, sharing food. He can't quite explain, how quickly he and Harry had just seemed to become as comfortable as they are with each other now. It had taken him considerably longer with Liam, Zayn, and everyone back in London. He decided early on not to overthink it.

“Kevin was supposed to show me his weird toothpaste cap collection,” Harry says, pouting slightly, and Niall snorts at him. One other thing he's discovered about Harry, is he's still very much a child himself. Just with a low, morbid voice and too many stupid tattoos. “So, what will we do today?”

“I'm going back to bed,” Niall says, getting up to go back to his room, and Harry's immediately whining, reaching out to hold onto Niall’s arm and pulling him back in.

“No, you can’t, you tit,” Harry says, frowning. “We need to do something, we’re already up, we’ve made sandwiches, we can’t just stay here. You shouldn’t lie to Bressie, we should take that Mullingar tour.”

“Not a week ago, you were the one who couldn’t get your arse out of bed until I accidentally groped your arse,” Niall tells him, groaning because he is quite tired, truth be told. “And there’s not much to see in Mullingar.”

“Well, you say that because you grew up here. Same old, same old, that type of thing,” he says, “but I don't know anything about this town aside from the fact that there's a market ten minutes from here, and an orphanage twenty minutes further down along the way.”

“Go back to bed.”

“Can’t, I’m too awake now,” he says. “Come on, then. Take me around, landmarks in your life. Where you had your first kiss, that sort of shit-”

“Christ, you’re so loud,” he mutters in reply, but he’s being dragged to stand up, and as much as he knows that Harry isn’t as entitled as he’d originally thought, he’s still a bloody prince, who can, should he choose to pester for it, get what he wants.

.

They take the car around Mullingar, Basil and Paul in the front, trying to not let their laughter be heard as Harry seems set on arguing with Niall the entire way. Where to go, where they should eat, whether or not it’s appropriate to roll down the windows to yell at the passers-by along the way, even if he’s the one who’d been the one to grow up here, know almost everyone by name, know just where to fucking go. Doesn’t help that Harry keeps on taking pictures every other minute, his stupid pink phone always ready in his hand and there seems to be a perpetual black and white filter on the screen. Niall, not for the first time, feels the urge to grab it and throw it into the nearest lake.

They, along with the security team, have a proper Irish breakfast in the little pub Niall always comes to, at least once whenever he comes back. Wouldn’t have guessed it, in such a tiny little space, but best sausage, eggs and pudding anywhere, with perfect tea, that even Harry has a third cup of. Then it’s exploring the rest of the way; the cathedral, Mullingar Central, the Famine Memorial Fountain and Millstone, the mini-museum in Greville Arms Hotel, where they also have a lunch of stew, and where Harry makes a casual remark about how Niall’s tastes better, which doesn’t fail to make him blush, making Basil snicker at him, the tit.

The mid-afternoon, after convincing Paul to let him take the wheel, he’s driving them to one of the nearby lakes, Lough Derravaragh, where the security hang back by several feet, marvelling at the waters and chatting with other visitors who’d come laden with fishing gear, while Harry and Niall walked on ahead. They’d already paused maybe four times, because Harry kept on wanting to stop and take pictures. The lure to actually chuck the phone into the water was infuriatingly strong.

“Gorgeous,” Harry’s saying, turning to look at Niall with a small smile on his face. It makes Niall want to say something, anything.

“You know the legend about the Children of Lir?” he says, knowing he’s not making much sense, but Harry tilts his head slightly, showing interest, and it’s enough for him to continue. “There were these two blokes, Bodb and Lir, and Bodb was elected king, can’t remember where, but Lir wasn’t all too happy with that, so to appease him, Bodb offered one of his daughter’s, Aoibh, for Lir to marry.”

“An insult to feminism,” Harry mutters, and Niall snorts at him. Not that he disagrees, because fuck, women aren't objects you can gift to someone to say sorry, fuck that. But. It's not real, but that doesn't deter Harry from his tirade. “Like, think about it! Why would you give away your daughter to a petulant little manchild to marry?”

“Don’t be so high and mighty, I think that’s what your ancestors did too,” Niall says, ignoring Harry’s squawking, “It’s just a legend, relax. So, she and Lir had four kids, one daughter, a son, and then twins. They’re all crazy happy, until mum dies, and the children get kinda depressed and Lir too, so Bodb sends another one of his daughters to marry him, Aoife.”

“What is it with these men thinking their daughters are dispensable?”

“Everyone was a little crazy, back then,” Niall says, not really an answer, but it’s whatever. “But stepmother was jealous of the kids, so she had them killed, but then the servant she ordered couldn’t do it. She tried to do it herself, but she wussed out, so she used some magic to turn them into swans.”

“Swans?” Harry repeats, then looks back to the lake, where funnily enough, a flock of the gorgeous birds are floating primly in the water, watching them. Oddly eerie.

“Swans, yeah. Bodb got pissed, turned his daughter into an air demon or something,” he says, while Harry gasps ridiculously and starts muttering,”And the kids had to live as swans, for like, 900 years. 300 here in Lough Derravaragh, 300 in Moyle, 300 somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, forgot where exactly.”

“Shit,” Harry says, huffing out, and the air’s just cold enough for it to be visible, just slightly. He’s not quite sure if swans migrate when it’s cold or anything, but they look pretty chill in the water. “And then?”

“Well, there are several endings,” Niall tells him.

“Then what’s your favorite one?”

Niall pauses then, stops in his tracks, and he thinks. “I don’t really know. To turn back into their normal form, they’d have to receive sanctuary from a priest.”

“And they do?”

“Yeah, but there are many versions of how they get it.”

“And? The one you like most is?”

He doesn’t know how to word it properly, really, so he just goes on ahead and says it, “Well, the one I know most is where they return to land after hearing a bell of some sort. A priest finds ‘em, and they ask him to turn them back into people. He does, but, you know, they’re 900 years old, so, they die. But, I don’t know, they’re happy, in heaven with their parents. At peace, finally.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, just stares at Niall quietly, and he sighs, because he knows how he must feel. What do you say to that, really, there’s no real tactful way to approach it. Must say a lot, if that’s what he thinks is the best ending, though to be fair, in every ending, they do die.

“Tell me about yourself,” Harry asks him, and he was afraid of this. Can’t quite find it in himself to speak, and he can’t look at Harry. “I want to know you, I really do.”

“I. I don’t know what to tell you,” he tells him, and he really doesn’t. Harry’s silent for a moment, and they’re still. Paul and the other lads seem to understand that they want to be alone, so they take refuge by a tree’s shade, leaving them be.

“Okay, what if - okay, okay,” Harry’s saying, taking Niall’s hand in his and walking them further along, away from anyone who might hear. It surprises Niall, how okay he finds himself with the touch. “What if I ask you questions? Will you answer them? You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, if you-”

“Yeah, okay,” Niall says, agreeing before he can psyche himself out of it. “Okay.”

He seems surprised by his consent, but he doesn’t waste time. Asks the first question quickly as if he’d been waiting to know, and Niall suspects he had. “Why do you like working in this company so much? What’s in it for you?”

Niall’s answer is just as quick, because it’s simple, really. “If I’m being honest with you, there’s not much in it for me. Just, you know, the satisfaction of knowing that I’m helping someone else. I don’t know why, particularly, but when someone else is happy because of something I’ve done for them, because they’re getting a chance they might not have had otherwise, that’s an honor, you know? It’s the best thing.”

“You know, that kind of genuine kindness, that’s a rarity,” Harry says, a little quietly, and he has to shake his head, because that’s not quite true.

“It’s not - you know, a lot of the reason I’m doing this is because I wanted to pay it forward,” he admits, and he knows that the words won’t stop after this. It’s a long story. “I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to study in London if it weren’t for one of the priests back in St. Jerome’s, Father Flood. He’s passed, a few years ago, but he saw that I had potential, maybe. Thought that I could do something with my life, sent me on a scholarship. And I just you know, thought it was fitting. To show someone else, someone like me, at least a little bit of the kindness he had showed me.”

“Priests can do that?”

“It’s not usual, now, but then, back in the 50’s. I don’t know,” Niall says, shrugging. “Whatever it was. He liked to think that it was an act of kindness, yeah? Make God well pleased, straight to heaven he’ll go. I knew better, though. He needed to keep a promise.”

“A promise?” Harry says, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

And this is the hard part. He says it quickly, quietly, to lessen the pain. “Parents died in a car accident, when I was sixteen. It’s okay, I’m fine,” he says immediately, when he sees Harry’s face grow soft, his eyes shine, “Really. But, you know. All of a sudden, it was just me and my brother Greg, and we’d never been all that close. You’d think that after you’re orphaned you and your only sibling would get closer, try to strengthen that bond, right? Never happened, with me and him. He got married, moved to a town hours away.”

“Niall,” he’s murmuring, but he shakes his head, wants to finish this properly.

“I don’t really blame him, though,” he says, “You’d think, but no. Denise is his life, and so is Theo, their son. He couldn’t just take care of me.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Listen, if I could have been mad about it, I would have, no question, but I would have just wasted my time,” Niall tells him. “I had to think about what I was going to do for myself, what my next move was, all that. They’d left the house with me, in their will, and I was just a few years away from finishing, so I did. But what would come after was the problem. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

Harry stays silent, listening to him. He’s still holding his hand.

“Then I went to Jerome’s, after I’d graduated. Went to see if anyone would maybe buy the house, I mean, we weren’t rich or anything, it’s a small house but it was something, and it was ours, and I could give it away, even though I didn’t want to. But I didn’t want to have to work in the market and the pub anymore just to be able to buy food and pay the electricity and for school stuff and everything. I was just lucky tuition was free, after they’d considered my situation.”

“So. How did you meet Father Flood?”

“Oh, I’d always known him,” Niall says. “He’s the one who gave me my first communion, pretty sure he was at my confirmation as well. And I know Bobby-”

“Who?”

“My dad, I called him by his name, we were like that,” Niall explains, shrugging a bit though his throat is tight at the memories. “Bobby made him promise, to look after me if ever. If ever something happened.”

“And how’d you know that?”

“He left it on his will,” Niall snorts, and it’s so sudden, and he thinks that’s why Harry lets out a snort as well. “Bobby was simple, always straightforward. He made sure I knew what to do, if ever the time came. Flood didn’t know that I knew, but he was kind. He helped me, and I’ll always be grateful. Good deed, nonetheless. So, I worked hard, and I graduated with honors, tried to do my old man proud.”

Harry is quiet, just stares at him as they come to a stop, and Niall feels him run his thumb gently across his knuckles.

“And I was just complaining about my life, a few days ago,” he says, and he immediately shakes his head, doesn’t want Harry to continue.

“Don’t, don’t do that,” he tells him, and he stops, instantly. “Don’t compare pain. It doesn’t do anyone good.”

Harry is silent again, and it makes Niall a little nervous. Talking about himself always does. But Harry, being the way that he is, charm and practiced in making one feel listened to, takes both of his hands in his, looks around briefly then, to his shock, kisses his hands, lightning fast, but his lips burn on his skin.

“Hope that was okay,” he says, “but. It puts things in perspective.”

“What do you mean?” his voice comes out soft, slightly high, still shocked, a bit.

“The way you’re just so effortlessly a much better person than I am,” he says, and Niall outrightly refuses to blush. Rolls his eyes, and Harry snorts, calling him a “ _wanker_ ,” just under his breath, and it’s comfortable, easy. “So, you and Liam?”

“We met in uni. It took me a long while, before we got to where we are now. He’s my brother, will be for life,” he says, affection strong for his best friend. “And when we decided to start working for the same company, well. And I had to move out of student housing and get a flat, and I met Zayn when Liam couldn’t be my roommate.”

“He the one with the impossible eyelashes? Cheekbones?”

“A model in another life,” he says, “Yeah, that’d be him. He was quiet, and I’m not, but he’s more open about his life, which, well, I’m not. We were a pretty good match. Then I introduced the two of ‘em and they just. They were made for each other.”

“I don’t quite get you,” Harry says, with a soft chuckle, and that catches Niall’s attention. “Like, you’re easy to get along with, really. We just got on a shit start, but you’re not hard to like. You always have something to say, you know how to make people comfortable, you’re good with kids. But, you take forever, to talk about yourself. You’re so private and. I don’t know. Never met anyone like you. Paradox, that’s what you are.”

“Well, it’s not that hard,” he says, shrugging. “I’m a simple man.”

“Fuck off.”

“Shut it, I’m just trying to explain myself to you,” he says, laughing. “I’ve got plenty of friends. I love people. But, you know. I haven’t got much family. I guess, I have to look at it this way. I got lucky enough, maybe, that I got to choose who I’d consider family, this time around.”

That makes him go quiet, again, and he’s quite sure, that Harry Styles has never been so silent, in his lifetime.

“Well, I don’t know what else to say,” he settles on, eventually, and he sounds a little disappointed in himself, that he couldn’t come up with anything better.

“I’m not expecting you to, in any case,” he tells him, and he really wasn’t. It’s out in the open now, and he can’t describe just how relieved he is. How freeing it is, how easy it makes him feel. Like, he shouldn’t have been worried, in the first place.

“Niall?”

“Hmm?” he hums, before he’s being reeled in for a hug, tight and warm and oddly effortless.

“Thank you,” Harry tells him, mouth moving against his neck, and that, of all things, catches him off guard.

He thinks he should be the one saying it, but his words are stuck in his throat. He hugs back instead, hoping the sentiment is the same.

.

“Hello,” Eilis greets him the next morning, as per usual, with a signature little bloom.

“Hi,” he says, smiling in return, accepting the flower. “How did you like the game?”

She shrugs, says softly, “It was okay. I didn't get what was happening a lot, but it's fine.”

He nods, because that's how he feels most of the time when it comes to football, fake British man that he is. He helps her sit down, and she begins buttering a piece of toast that he suspects will be for him. He gets her a plate of eggs and a bacon rash, in return. He looks up briefly, sees Niall walking around as he normally does, and watches him pause, look towards their little corner, and he beams at them, bright and happy and his eyes crinkle behind the lense of of glasses. It warms Harry from the inside out, and he smiles back.

“You like him,” she says, as if it were a fact that can’t be contested. He snaps back down to look at her, and he’s stuttering a bit on his words.

“I, no, Eilis,” he says, disjointed and pathetic. Just because he finds himself a little more fond, a little more endeared and appreciative and grateful and. Well. She’s not wrong, but still. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

She looks at him, considering for a moment, before she just shrugs and loads on the jam for his toast. “I don’t know, I’m not the only one who thinks so, though. Kevin and Nicky and Saoirse and Laura and-”

“Okay, maybe a lot of you, but we’re just friends,” he says, to which she just responds with a hum, which is pretty telling.

“Hello, there, Eilis,” Niall’s walked up to their table, and takes a seat next to Harry, much too close considering there must be maybe six feet between him and the next person on the bench, but he doesn’t move away from where his thigh is pressed right up against Harry’s. He doesn’t do this much, sit with them during breakfast, even for a little bit, always goes around instead to talk with the other kids, a few minutes at a time, hardly ever sits down. “Harry.”

Eilis is frowning a little, then. Her lip wobbles, and she says quietly, “I don’t have anymore flowers, I don’t have any to give to you.”

“Oh, that’s okay, love, it’s fine,” he says, smiles at her to appease her.

“No, love, it’s okay,” Harry’s saying, and in a spontaneous, maybe stupid, move that didn’t got through the proper process of thought, he plucks the flower she had offered him from his jacket, and tucks it behind Niall’s ear. “We’ll just share this one.”

“Why’d you put it behind my ear?” is Niall’s first reaction, which, to his credit, is much better than what Harry was expecting. “What do you take me for, mate?”

“What?” he’s saying, because he can’t quite come up with a better reply. “What?”

It seems make her feel better, though, because Eilis nods slightly, finishes up the toast, before she holds it up for Niall to take a bite, which he does with a wink.

“Yum,” he says, chewing, and he smiles again, before standing up when Bressie gestures for him to come over on the other side of the room to help with the new platters of food coming in, “thank you, amazing.”

He leans down to press a kiss on her head, then runs his knuckles up Harry’s spine, like he’s making sure he feels it. It makes his sit up straighter, doesn’t know what to do when he walks off, and when he looks down at Eilis to see her reaction, she’s just staring back, as if she were relaying a non verbal, “ _I told you so._ ”

.

“What do you mean, I need a bloody suit?” Harry’s saying, and he’s forgotten all about his tea. It’s a few days after the lake, and they’re due to leave in less than a week, but not without some culminating activity, of sorts.

“It’s a formal-ish event, you’re gonna need formal-ish clothes,” Niall says, shrugging a bit, while Harry’s security sniggers next to them in the table, nursing their own nightcaps. “Look, it’s not _that_ strict of a dress code, you’ll be fine in your fancy floral shit and a jacket.”

“What? Why didn’t you lot tell me to pack a suit in the first place?”

“Slipped my mind,” Niall smiles at him cheekily, and he suddenly understands.

“You twat.”

“Look, I thought it’d be funny then, if I didn’t tell you and you showed up horrendously underdressed,” he says, and Paul just laughs, easily, loudly. “Sorry, yeah, but it’s funny, yeah?”

“You twat,” he just repeats, and he’s frowning down at his tea.

“Yeah, whatever,” he waves him off, pours a bit of whiskey into his cup. Warms him right up, “Hey, it’s just a special dinner for the kids. Like, proper catering, they’re gonna get to wear suits and dresses, there’ll be a little program.”

“So, a bit like a formal?” Basil’s saying, then, and Niall nods at him.

“Yeah, it’s just for fun,” he says, and when he looks at Harry, the frown is even deeper on his face, and he’s glaring at his cup of tea as if it had offended him greatly. “If it means that much to you to look good, we can rent out a suit, or something-”

“No,” Harry says, really quite offended. “ _No._ I will not, no.”

“I kind of hoped that you'd have been humbled enough to be okay with a normal, run of the mill suit,” Niall sighs dramatically, takes another sip in response to the scowl he's given. “Nope. Still very much a royal, with the innate need to not have any sort of contact with the word ‘rental.’”

“Fuck off,” Harry's muttering, and Niall's smirks at him meanly. Fuck him. “I'll just have something sent here from home, while I still can.”

“It's just a dinner-”

“I will _not_ wear a _rental_ ,” he says decisively, and he stares him down. “You cannot make me.”

“I've made you do tons of shit, Your Highness.”

“ _I_ _will not,_ ” he says, making sure his eyes are murderous, and Niall just laughs, throwing his head back. Harry wants to kiss him a little, and the suddenness of the thought makes him choke on his breath.

“Impossible.”

“Paul, please try to contact Caroline now,” Harry says, tries to hide his flustered state by finally paying attention to his tea. It's much too sweet, by the time he's done feeling like his blush is obvious. He knows just what to wear.

.

“Ah, handsome, handsome men,” Niall's saying as he takes in the security team standing outside Harry's room. They're decked out in suits with black ties, small pink rose boutonnières on their lapels. They smile back at him, nodding slightly.

“Not so bad yourself, sir,” Basil tells him, and he has to laugh at the ‘sir’, idiot. He doesn't bring out the Tom Ford suit out often, if at all. It had been a graduation gift, from Greg. The one time he'd splurged on Niall, get him a crazy expensive thing one time and never do anything again. Niall appreciates it, though, he's had it tailored slightly so it fits him perfectly, and it's classic. Black and slim fit and a black bow tie tied around his neck. He'd attempted to fix his hair, swooped off to the side instead of the usual straight up, and it's looser, somewhat. He doesn't know.

“He ready then?” he asks, pointing to the door, and they shrug at him. Paul knocks on the door once, says, “Niall's going to come in, Your Highness!” To which Harry yells back an “ _okay!_ ”

They open the door, and he walks in, fixing his cuffs and cufflinks, and he’s saying, “You ready to leave, Your Highness?” And then he looks up, and loses his words.

Harry’s got his royal uniform on. It fits him incredibly well, the black velvet of it looking every bit regal as he must feel, epaulette on his shoulders gold and massive, gold sash across his front and ropes of gold hanging carefully over his chest. He’s even got the hat, though it's not his head yet, instead, it sits on the nightstand, waiting to be worn. He's got his gloves on, and he’s even tried to tame his hair a bit. It certainly looks much neater this way, in a bun, tied away from his face, and he looks clean shaven, though there wasn’t much aside from weird little wisps of hair above his upper lip. He looks handsome, like. Genuinely, like a prince, and Niall can’t stop staring at him, can’t make his heartbeat slow down.

“Wow, Niall,” Harry breaks the quiet, taking him in. “You look amazing. Like Bond.”

Niall still can't find it in himself to speak, barely fights the urge to loosen his collar, to make breathe easier.

“Aha, um,” Harry’s then saying awkwardly, when he stays silent for what feels like too long. “Well, I know it might seem much, but. I’m only ever supposed to wear this if the occasion is really special. Trooping the Colour, Coronations, if ever, but that hasn’t happened yet, I feel like Nan’s going to live forever so. Last time I wore this my cousin got married, around five years ago? They've got two kids now, they’re doing really well, but, um, anyway. Only for really important things, so. I thought tonight called for it, so.”

Niall still doesn't know what to say. Just keeps on taking Harry in, figuring out what the stupid feeling swirling around his chest is. Eventually, he clears his throat, and let's put an amused chuckle. Tells Harry, “Should've known that you would do this.”

“Huh?”

“Should have expected that you would upstage the kids,” he says, sighing, all dramatic and shaking his head. “Showing up all dressed and royal and over the top.”

“Shit, really?” Harry says, smile dropping as he looks down on himself. “Shit, I thought it would be nice.”

“It is,” Niall tells him, can't hold back his smile. “Sorry. I just didn't know what to say. You look really good.”

“Oh, well,” he says, and Niall finds the blush that spreads across his cheeks unbearably endearing. “Thank you.”

“If it doesn't offend you, Harry,” he begins to say, tries to figure out how to say this properly, “if I can just say this. You look like a proper prince. It suits you, much more than you know.”

Harry just stares at him, tries to, before he sucks his head down to hide the red blooming even deeper on his face, and says quietly, “that. That means a lot. Especially coming from you.”

“Oh, god, don't be so soppy,” Niall says, tries to diffuse the weird tension in the room. It's not necessarily bad, even. Just makes him feel as if his heart could beat right out of his chest, like his collars too hot and his tie too tight. Just. Strange.

“Sorry, um,” Harry's floundering a bit, looking around and getting his phone and his hat. “Sorry,” he's mumbling again, before he straightens up, clears his throat, and suddenly, Niall can see where the royal training must have gone into. Harry offers him an arm to hold though, and he has to snort, knocking it down.

“Idiot, the fuck you doing,” he laughs, and instead, holds Harry around the waist. Feels him jolt, but otherwise, he's held back, and they walk out the room together.

.

The kids adore him, as Niall guessed earlier on. How could they not, with the way he actually looks like a prince, his smile and green eyes that are hilariously so shiny and it frustrates him to no end, because he's finding that he adores Harry too.

The dinner is big, on their terms, but definitely small, in Harry's terms, but he amps up the charm, the manners. Treats everyone like princes and princesses and offering to dance with them all, which he does. He's a horrible dancer, but no one seems to care much, and Niall is so stupidly endeared, and this affection is going to ruin him.

He's on the floor with Eilis now, having promised her several dances, this being their third together, and Niall has had his share of dancing tonight, used to have to be on his feet the entire night, but this isn't his first dinner with the kids. He guesses his novelty’s worn off, a little, but that's alright. Doesn't really mind having a bit of a rest, standing off to the side and nursing a singular flute of champagne that Bressie had brought for the adults, with an allowance of only one serving each.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sister Loisa comes to stand next to him, holding a cup of what looks like beer in her hands. Niall snorts, because of course she’d be the only one to have beer and not share it with anyone, so much for being a generous nun of God. “Didn’t know he could look like that. Why can’t he just cut that rag on his head?”

“I don’t think he’ll ever do that,” he says, watching him twirl Eilis and Saoirse at the same time. “I think he wants to be a mermaid or summat.”

“In any case, he’s been good to us,” she says, “good to them. I’m not ashamed to say I’ll miss him.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says quietly.

They’re silent for a while, just observing the festivities before them, then she’s saying, “You like him, yeah?”

“What-”

‘Hmm, I say go for it, that boy’s quite fond of you, as well,” she tells him nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal.

“Sister, I,” he stammers, and he breaks out in a cold sweat, “Sister. Don’t you think - I mean, should you be saying that? What with you, being a woman of God and all? ‘Man should not lie with another man’ or something?”

“I’m old, but I’m not a neanderthal,” she snorts at him, “I’m also not an idiot.”

He doesn’t know what to say, is sure that his skin is positively rosy from the blood rushing up to his face, so he tries to play it off by drinking from his flute, but she just laughs at him.

“You’ve been good for him,” she tells him, “He’s gotten very far.”

“I think that’s his own doing,” he says, because he can’t take the credit. Harry’s been good because he really was good.

“That may be,” she goes on to say, “but when I first met that boy, he was a shit liar. Oh, don’t be so shocked, it’s just a cuss,” she tuts at him when he chokes at her choice of words. “I could tell he didn’t want to be here. Then, I don’t know what you did, but he started trying.”

“That was all him.”

“I’d like to believe that, but I know you must have said something,” she says. “And if there’s one thing I know, from all the work you’ve done here, it’s that no one ever wants to disappoint you.”

The words make him choke, for a whole other reason, and he can’t find the words to say in reply. She pats his arm, as if she knows what he’s thinking.

.

“Harry?”

“Hmmm?” he looks up from where he’s packing his bags, sees Niall by the door, looking so comfy in a henley and joggers, ready for bed with his hair so soft and glasses lazily perched on his nose. Harry wants to hold him close, so badly. Feels like his chest is too tight with the urge.   
“I know you’re busy, packing and everything to leave tomorrow, but I just wanted to tell you. You were great tonight,” he tells him, smiling softly. “Everyone really loved you. Even though you upstaged everyone in your uniform, twat.”

“You sure it was okay?” he asks, even though he knows that Niall's taking the piss. “I mean, the nuns were okay with it, right? I just wanted to look nice, for the kids.”

“Please, they were the ones who couldn't stop staring at you,” he snorts. “An exciting night for them, a handsome prince from another land all dressed up and charming everyone in the room. It's probably the most action they'll see in their lifetimes.”

“Niall,” he says, mocking shock, and Niall just laughs at him again.

“Don't worry, it was fine,” he says, smiling. “Okay, I'll leave you to pack. Good night, Harry.”

He waves at him, before walking off, and Harry stutters in his movements. Finds that he has more to say, so he drops the folded jumper he'd been holding and runs after Niall clumsily, limbs of a newborn deer.

“Niall, Ni, wait,” he breathes, and Niall turns to look at him, humming a bit to show him he's paying attention. Harry gulps, feeling a bit nervous, though he's got no reason to be, it's Niall. But for some reason, that's why this is so important. “Um. I just wanted to tell you, for these last two weeks. Thank you.”

Niall looks at him, considering, then he says, “No need to thank me, Harry. It's quite alright.”

“No, I don't think you understand, I really do. I do need to thank you,” he says, comes closer to him. “Like. Thank you, for calling me out on my shit. Not everyone is willing to do that, and I know my family's had it up to here with trying to get me get my life back in order. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

He doesn't speak, just stays there as Harry tells him all this. He steps in closer, goes on to add, “I know I'm not easy to understand or handle or teach or anything. I'm a lot of work. But you were patient, and I don't think I could have done as much as I've done with the kids if not for you.”

“See, that's where I think you're wrong,” Niall's telling him then. “You think you're not made for this kind of thing, that maybe being a prince isn't for you. Maybe you're right. You should be given the freedom to choose what you want for your life, what you want to do and how to make your own mistakes.

“But Harry,” he says, taking a step forward of his own, so they're only a foot apart. “As many mistakes you've made, I knew you had it in you to make up for all of them and more. You're a good person, you're kind and thoughtful and quite amazing. You just needed the right push. That was all you, okay? _You_ have been incredible. Thank _you_.”

Niall smiles at him softly, and Harry feels the warmth of his words wash over him, and he really does adore him. So much.

He comes forward, not thinking, and holds his face in his hands. Pulls Niall's face towards him and kisses him soundly. Brushes their lips together, pressing and feeling an incredible, perfect warmth wash over him, and licks against his bottom lip, and Niall's pushing him away gently.

“Harry, no,” he says softly, and Harry whines quietly, but doesn't push. Just holds his face close and skims his lips over his cheek. “I'm just - we can't.”

“Are you not,” he begins, slightly panicking, “Are you not into - because if you're not, I'm sorry-”

“It's not that,” Niall tells him, sighing a bit. “It’s really not that, it’s just. We can’t, it’s too complicated.”

“How so?” he asks, nuzzling at his nose even if Niall’s trying, halfheartedly, to pull away.

“We’re from different worlds, it would never-”

“I’d think you would know me well enough by now to know that I don’t like that excuse,” Harry says, but he draws back anyway when Niall presses on his chest, a silent plea for him to move. “That’s not my world, I thought I’d told you that.”

“It’s the world you grew up in, and that’s enough to make this complicated,” he replies, and he has this soft, apologetic smile on his face. Harry can’t help but return it, though it doesn’t stop him from sighing in disappointment. “Sorry, Harry. It’s just, I work for you, technically. And I’m too country for you, in any case.”

“Quite like country,” he mutters, but he relaxes anyway, smiles when Niall kisses his cheek in apology. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“Ask me on a date first,” he jokes, grinning a bit, and Harry stays quiet, smiles all the same. “Go and pack. Have an early flight. Good night.”

“Good night,” he says, smiling one more time at him before Niall's waving once, then entering his room, leaving Harry in the hallway, watching him.

.

If things should be awkward the next day, Niall makes sure that it isn’t between them. Harry’s sure, what with the way that he’s not treated any differently. Normally, no shits given to his blue blood status. As is usual, with the occasional sarcastic remark and lightly toned, frankly worded comments about the ridiculousness of Harry’s mannerisms and what not. It’s all the same as before, and it’s as if Harry had never even kissed him. It’s fine, it’s all fine, but probably more than anything, Harry admits to himself that it is disappointing.

They leave, and the journey back to England is filled with banter and general light heartedness, comforting and very much wanted. Niall mentions wanting to throw his phone out of the window (in the car going to the airport, in the plane, in the car leaving the airport) at least five times, and he drops in a not so subtle compliment on the glasses every other half hour. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over those.

It’s when they’re nearing The Playground’s headquarters, when Harry frowns, tells the driver, “Hey, why are we going here, let’s just bring Niall to his place.”

“Oh, oh no, it’s okay,” he says, “I've got some work to do anyway.”

“You so lie, you were talking to Rochelle on the phone about getting the day off, thought I wouldn’t hear,” he snorts. “Going to work after a day of traveling, nutter.”

“But. It's out of the way-”

“Shut up, Niall. Paul-”

“Already en route, Your Highness.”

“Don't try, Blondie. This is the least we can do, for everything you've done the past two weeks,” Harry says to him, and funnily enough, he stays silent. Sits back in his seat, and the silence is unnerving. Harry doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he takes his hand, and let's their linked fingers rest on the seat between them. It's enough for him that Niall doesn't make any indication that he's not okay with it. Just lets their hands stay like that.

It's only a matter of time before they're rolling up to Niall's building, and Harry's saying just as Paul’s opening his door to help out with the bags, “No, let me do it.”

Paul acquiesces to his request, and he gets out, though he's not much help, Niall already lifting his luggage out of the back and he's pretty much ready to go.

“So.”

“Thank you,” Harry says before things can go to awkward. He comes forward to gather him in an embrace, which is returned easily, immediately. “I’m very grateful. For everything.”

“Didn't know this is what calling your shit out would get me,” he's chuckling, and Harry presses a long kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Harry. It was a real honor, to work with you.”

“Likewise,” he's saying, pulling back and smiling one more time, before Niall wheels his stuff in and turns back just to give them a final wave, a final beam, and disappears behind the double doors.

“Your Highness?” Paul calls from the car, his window rolled down. “We have to go.”

“Right, right, yes. Of course,” he's saying, scrambling to get back inside, feeling already a bit emptier.

.

“So, Irish,” Leigh-Anne’s sauntering up to his cubicle, tapping at the thin glass. “Did you shag?”

He ignores her, just stares at his laptop screen, typing and trying to figure out how to make this evaluation sound less casual.

“Does he have a nice dick?” she asks further, tapping at his head instead.

“‘Oh, hi Niall, welcome back,’” he's muttering, still not looking at her. “‘How was the trip? We're the kids doing okay? Food still amazing?’”

“Jesus, as if you haven't gone before-”

“Hey Ni,” Liam's walking by then, “You doing okay? Heard the kids got to go watch a footie game, how was that?”

“Hi, Li, I'm okay,” he replies, grinning pointedly at Leigh, who just snorts. “Thanks, the kids were great, didn't get to go to that game though, didn't have tickets-”

“Cool, so did you shag?” he asks, and Niall immediately throws a chip from his now cold breakfast at him.

“Get away, you wankers,” he says, “need to finish this.”

“Niall, come on,” she whines dramatically, “you go off to your hometown with the fittest prince in the world and expect us not to be interested in what happened? Did you have hate sex? I heard that's the best kind-”

“Christ, why would I sleep with someone I hate?” he says, looking up from his screen. “Are you and J role playing again?”

“Fuck you, Horan, just imagine it,” she says, “one minute you're yelling at each other and then there's so much hatred and passion between the two of you that you can't help but just tear each other's clothes off and bite each other’s skin-”

“Well, hate to break it to you, but that didn’t happen. We didn't shag,” he says, the words on the document blurring together. He says, in a much more quiet done, “Also, I don't really hate him anymore, so. Hate sex wouldn't have worked.”

“What,” Liam's muttering, and Leigh’s eyes go wide at his admission. ‘Niall - shit, what do you mean by that?”

“Fuck me, mate, I don’t hate him,” he says, and he sighs, can’t seem to type beyond the sentence, ‘ _Mr. Styles had participated and performed beyond expectations._ ’ “Like, you should have seen him. I mean, yeah, he was a real twat the first few days, but then he got his shit together and he was amazing with the kids, especially the shy ones. Like, he brought them out of their shells and was so good with them and he learned everyone’s names and he wore that bloody uniform for the formal dinner and. Shit. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t hate him, not really. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Fuck, Niall,” she’s murmuring then, “holy fuck, you like him.”

“You were calling him a ‘Frog’ two weeks ago.”

“To be fair, I called him that to his face; he responds to it.”

“Shit, Niall,” Liam’s saying, “Did something happen between the two of you? Something might have developed, and maybe you just didn’t realize it.”

“Ay, Liam, that was work, you know me,” he says, frowning at the hilariously unfinished evaluation report in front of him. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen. But. I don’t know. He’s a much better person than he allows people to see. It’s actually quite frustrating.”

“So you like him,” Leigh-Anne starts out slow, “you like him, but nothing happened. Bullshit. Something must have happened, even if you weren’t the one to start it.”

“Agh,” he groans, bangs his head on the keyboard. Might make the word count longer on this fucking report. “Fuck. He kissed me.”

“Niall,” she breathes; Liam drops his pen, making it clatter on Niall’s desktop. “Holy shit-”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Liam says, “that must mean he likes you too, if he’s the one who snogged you.”

“I pushed him away.”

“What, why?”

“Because! We’re from different worlds,” he says, sighing. “He's a prince, fuck’s sake. He's in line for the throne, might be seventh in line or something, but still. He's a prince. And I'm. Well. I'm me.”

“Fucking amazing, is what you are,” she says, to which Liam nods fervently.

“I'm not saying I'm below him or anything. I know I'm not, I'm not any less than he is,” he says. “I'm just. It's complicated. I worked for him, and our worlds are just too different. I’d never fit in there in his, and try as he might, he won't ever understand what it is to really have to work for what you need in life.”

“He'd be lucky to have you in his life, you know,” Liam says.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” he sighs, and tries to get back to typing. “Whatever it was, it's over. It's highly unlikely we’ll ever see each other again.”

“Niall, you don't know that,” Leigh-Anne tells him.

He looks up briefly from the screen, and hopes that the look he's conveying through his eyes is enough to let them know that he's done talking about this. For added measure, he clears his throat loudly, begins typing flowery worded shit and saying, “Nando’s for lunch? Liam’s buying.”

Liam frowns, but makes no indication that he won't, and she just sighs tiredly, patting his head as she goes back to her cubicle.

‘ _Further recommendations: Harry exhibited great natural rapport with the children, showed genuine interest in their welfare and education. Thus, it is at my recommendation that he continue to work with underprivileged youths…’_

.

“Shit, Lou, why do I always have to go to these,” Harry mutters as he pulls at the football kit the club had provided him. Red and white aren't quite his colors, at least when they're put together in stripes. “I'm rubbish at footie and you always make fun of me-”

“I need an extra man and you're always available,” he answers simply, shaking hands and smiling at the manager and the players. “Just for fun, Haz, won't kill you.”

“Fuck, I really don't want to be here,” he says under his breath, feigning a smile as he greets everyone, but Louis hears him, and snorts.

“Your evaluation’s supposed to be coming in today, innit?” he says as he and Harry walk off to the sidelines.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak due to his nervousness. He doesn't know what Niall would say, or what his father might think or. Whatever. It's all whatever, but he hasn't heard from him in almost a week. It's getting to him, how much he misses him.

“Scared you'll bomb it?”

He shakes his head, still not speaking, and he sits down in the bench, gestures Paul for his phone, and he throws it from hand to hand, anticipating.

“Maybe I shouldn't have brought you along, your jumpiness is getting to me,” Louis mutters as he stretches a bit on the side, and Harry ignores him.

He figures out the time in his head. He'd been told that the evaluation report should have been sent yesterday, which means that it might have only been seen earlier this morning. He doesn't know how much Niall might have written, but assuming that this report is safely maybe five or so pages, his father should have been done reading it by now, if he had gone over it with his breakfast, as he is wont to do with his agendas and itineraries and such.

Assuming all that, if he's staying silent because Harry's cocked up somehow and he's figuring out how to tactfully kick him out of the London home, or if he's done okay so-

His phone rings, vibrating in his hands, and it shocks him so much that he throws the phone in the air in surprise before he catches it clumsily and slides the screen to answer, trying hard to ignore Louis blatantly laughing at him.

“Hello?”

“ _Harry, hello."_

“Dad, hello,” he breathes, his heart pounding.

“ _You've been back for almost a week, and I still haven't asked you about  your trip,”_ he says. _“Maybe we should meet up, talk about it.”_

“Yeah, sure,” he answers, mostly just for show. He knows his dad most probably won't hold up his end of the deal. He hardly ever does, and he's learned to not expect anything.

_“I assume you know why I'm calling.”_

“If my assumption is right.”

 _“I know you're waiting up on Niall's evaluation on you,”_ he says, and Harry can feel the slick sweat his palm is leaving on his phone. Makes it tacky and gross to hold up to his ear, but he doesn't move. _“I've just finished reading over it. He was very comprehensive.”_

“I'd imagine that he would be,” he says, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to sit still.

_“Yes, well. He had several suggestions for how you would move forward, should you choose to keep working with children.”_

“Suggestions?” he murmurs, not quite understanding.

 _“‘Performed beyond expectations,’”_ he reads aloud, and Harry has a hard time believing the words. _“Keep it up.”_

“I - um. Thanks, dad,” he says, and Des says something else, but he can’t quite hear it. Mumbles a goodbye when prompted, then hangs up, and he’s still not believing anything.

“That your old man?” Louis is asking, and he nods dumbly. “So. Did you cock it up?” When Harry doesn’t speak, his eyes narrow, “Did you actually _cock him_ to get a good grade? That’s low, even for you, Haz-”

“No, no, no, he’s not like that,” he says quickly, shaking his head wildly. “I ‘performed beyond expectations’,” he says.

“Oh? So you didn’t bomb, that’s great-”

“Lou, I kissed him,” he says in one breath, voice quiet but sharp.

“You. What?”

“I kissed him the last night but he pushed me away, and that’s fine, you know? We were working together so that would have been weird, but he hasn’t contacted me in any way since we got back and it’s driving me up the wall and I can’t help but _want_ to kiss him again, and-”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis says, keeping his voice soft. “You fancy him.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t deny it. It’s very much the truth, anyway.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s actually, you know, really great. I’m happy for you,” Louis says, coming forward to pat his shoulder.

“But he pushed me away.”

“You said it yourself, it would have been weird because you worked together. But you don’t anymore, do you?” Louis says. “Maybe he just didn’t know how to contact you again, especially after that. Maybe you should ask him.”

“He said we’re from different worlds.”

“Well, you are,” Louis says. “But you know, that doesn't matter, in the end. Just means you were born and grew up in different circumstances. It's got nothing to do with the way you feel about him. If you like him truly, then you'd want to make it work. Look at the cuz. Kate and Will, they made it work. Most loved couple in the world, they are.”

“Don’t want to fuck anything up,” he says, and Louis slaps him in the back. Hard.

“And you won’t!” he says, and he goes back to stretching, “And you know, I demand to meet this bloke. This Niall got you to do shit none of us could get you to do? Miracle worker, he must be. You finally found someone who doesn’t take your shit and isn’t afraid to insult you, he must be amazing, yeah?”

And. Harry agrees with him, fully.

.

“Leigh, feet off, would you,” Niall's muttering, keeping his eyes on the road as he shoves her feet off the dashboard.

“Niall, it's so bleeding early-”

“You can sleep without your feet up, look at Li and Z,” he says, gesturing to the rear view mirror where Liam and Zayn are visible, sleeping and leaning on each other in the backseat. “We should be in Jerome’s in just a bit, though, so if you want to get that nap in now-”

“Ah, forget it,” she mutters, huffing. She does this for awhile, and eventually, she falls asleep.

Niall snickers, but keeps it quiet nonetheless. He'd been more than pleased when he's heard that Prince Desmond decided to provide funds to purchase of great plot of land, and more to build an entire new wing for the center. He'd been honored when he'd received the call to go back to Mullingar for the groundbreaking. Had laughed a whole lot when Rochelle had instructed Liam and Leigh-Anne to go with him. Even Zayn had been dragged into it, when Liam pouted and said he'd been away from him too much as it was, so she'd told him to bring him as well, and. Well.

It's been a few weeks since he'd seen him. He hasn't tried to reach him in any way, and Harry has done the same. He tells himself to not be disappointed, but it can't be helped.

Not long after, they're there, and he's parking into the backlot of the building, though not without making sure to jolt the car a tiny bit, making them all snap awake, looking around in shock. They all frown at him when he cackles loudly; Zayn even slaps the back of his head, but it's weak.

“Don't be a twat, Ni, it's so fucking early,” Liam says blearily, but Niall just snorts.

“You're joking, we’re almost three hours late,” he says, getting out of the car. “Breakfast must be over by now, you tits. I've never been late before; you lot take fucking forever to get up and ready. Zayn, you must've taken an hour getting just your hair done.”

“Fuck you, Irish, this doesn't just happen,” he says, gesturing to his quiff.

They all argue on the way in, exchanging heated words between them as the go through the hallways, when Bressie is walking towards Niall with a beam on his face.

“You're never late, are these three the reason why?” he says, smiling at them.

Niall sighs, and introduces them all quickly, and he asks him as he and Bressie walk on ahead, “What classes do we go to first?”

“Oh, we’re giving them a free morning today, unexpected visitors,” he says, not explaining anything else before he grins at him, then leaves.

Niall frowns, confused, because they said they were coming, but he tries not to overthink it. Chooses to bring them around, tour them around the facilities and everything, introducing them to the other kids and nuns and workers who they pass by along the way.

“And this is the playground,” he says as they walk out to the back, large open space and kids running around everywhere, on the slide and the swings and the grass. “They plan on expanding it once the new land is ready.”

“So many of them are gingers,” Liam’s saying, before Zayn and Leigh both hit him to shut him up, and Niall just laughs in front of them.

“You’re in Ireland, this isn’t unusual,” he says, grinning, and looks back out into the yard. Looks over to the garden, and promptly loses his breath.

Eilis is where she usually is, perched over her little patch of flowers with a small watering pail in her hands, plucking out the flowers that have bloomed, and she’s not quite alone. Right beside her, of all people, Harry sits on the grass, beaming as Laura, another one of the quiet girls, stands next to him, barely tall enough to reach his head, and he’s leaning his head down to make it easier for her to braid the daisies into his hair.

“Well, fuck me,” Leigh-Anne’s laughing when they realize who he’s staring at.

“Ahh, the Frog,” Zayn adds, and, as if by some wired connection he has to the nickname, Harry looks up from his spot on the ground, and the way his whole face brightens up at the sight of Niall makes him blush to his ears, makes him fiddle with the glasses perched on his nose. Liam not so subtly punches his back, the three of them snickering behind him as they watch Harry gather up a few more flowers, standing up and taking Eilis’ hand in his as they walk towards them.

“Well,” he begins, smile wide on his face as he comes to a stop before them. “Blondie.”

“Your Highness,” Niall says, and Harry gives him a look, which makes him sigh, and retract, “Sorry. _Harry_.”

“Better,” he says, and he looks to the others. “Hello, I don’t know if you remember me-”

“Oh, we remember,” she says, smiling and promptly ignoring the elbowing to the ribs Niall gives her.

“Yes, about that,” Harry laughs, “Sorry for my past behavior. It was very ill-mannered of me. I hope to make up for it, Miss Pinnock, Mr. Payne, Mr. Malik. I’m Harry.”

“Well, you’ve done your homework,” Zayn says. “Just Zayn will do, yeah? Liam, and Leigh-Anne.”

“Alright, thank you,” he says, still smiling and glancing at each of them, before he turns his attention back to Niall, eyes going soft.

Niall tries to keep his composure, leaning down to bring Eilis into a tight hug, trying to meet Harry’s gaze as little as possible. He watches her pull at his hand pointedly, and he startles, realizing, before he offers Niall the small, but beautiful, bunch of flowers.

He blushes immediately, and Eilis is grinning up at both of them, then skipping away back to her flower patch. Zayn is pointedly clearing his throat, grabbing at Leigh’s and Liam’s hands and talking very loudly about wanting to check out the kitchens, dragging them away to leave Niall and Harry alone.

“Take a walk with me?” Harry asks him, after he’s accepted the flowers with a quiet “ _thank you_.”

“Yes, of course,” he replies, smiling at the grin he receives in turn, and in a very spiritedly bold move, he takes Harry’s hand in his to go off to look at the newly purchased land together.

It’s quiet for a while, neither of them saying anything as they move past the playground and out onto the still empty grassland, vast and seemingly never ending, but the silence isn’t unwanted, nor awkward. Niall finds himself comforted by it.

“So,” he breaks the quiet, once they’re far enough. “Are you planning to kill me here, or-”

“Ah, my plans are foiled,” Harry bemoans dramatically, and he laughs. He says, “Was about to call Paul for the boomerang.”

“A boomerang - the fuck,” Niall shakes his head, “You’ve been watching too much Sherlock.”

“A perfect crime,” he says, and they both laugh, much more relaxed.

“Well, what are you doing here, then?” Niall’s asking him as they come to a slow pace, not really wanting to go anywhere. Just to move around.

“I wanted to see you,” Harry admits to him, the blush fair on his unnaturally tan skin.

“And how'd you know I'd be here?” The blush on Harry's face gets deeper, and Niall would be so tempted to tease him otherwise, but he's blushing as well, so. “Did you stalk me? Call Roch and ask about my schedule, you tit?”

“No,” he says, “I just knew you’d be here.”

Niall goes quiet, and thinks about it. “Your dad invited me.”

“Well, your evaluation recommended for me to do further work with underprivileged kids,” Harry says slowly, smiling. “I might have asked that I continue my work here-”

“Harry.”

“-And mum already had plans about expanding this place, so,” he continues, grinning. “We talked about it, and I might have put in a suggestion for dad to help.”

“Harry.”

“And I might have suggested that you, maybe, supervise the project, what with your experience here.”

“Harry,” Niall's pulling him into a hug, tight and he hides his face in his neck, feeling an overwhelming sense of calm wash over him. “Fuck, thank you, so much. Holy shit.”

“It’s not much, but it will be,” Harry's saying, holding him back just as tight. “And this place deserves it.”

They stay like that for a bit, just holding each other, and when they pull back, Niall's embarrassed to see that he'd left a bit of a wet spot on Harry's shoulder. Didn't even realized he'd cried.

“Shit, sorry,” he tries wiping at Harry's shoulder, knowing the stupid shirt must have cost maybe we'll over 500 quid even if it's horrendously ugly, but Harry laughs it off, waving his apologies away.

“It's okay,” he says, smiling and looking at him, eyes almost unbearably tender. “But. If it's okay, I want to ask you something.”

“What might that be?” he asks, wiping at his face to make sure there's no more tears.

“Mind if we go to the lake tomorrow?”

“Yeah, alright,” Niall says, “Want to do some fishing or something, or? I can bring Li and-”

“Ah, no, not what I meant,” Harry laughs nervously. “You remember, before? You'd told me to ask you out on a date first, so.”

“Oh, Harry,” he breathes, and his heart begins to pound in his chest, faster and faster.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s perfectly okay,” Harry rambles, word after word. “Fishing sounds fun, yeah, you bring Liam and Zayn and Leigh, I’ll bring Paul-”

Niall shuts him up by pulling his face towards his, and kissing him hard. Harry flails a bit, surprised, but it barely takes a moment before he’s kissing him back, pulling him closer and scrambling to get his hands on him, fingers scraping at his back.

“Niall,” he breathes once they separate, his mouth red and used. Niall is so stupidly fond of him.

“I missed you,” he admits, keeps his voice low and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.”

“I missed _you_ ,” Harry tells him, embraces him and tucks his face into his neck. “No one’s been around to tell or make fun of me, it's been amazing. But I missed you anyway.”

“You tit,” he snakes a hand up Harry’s chest and pinches his nipple, making him yelp in pain.

.

Harry picks him up the next day, just a bit before dinner, and he runs out of the house ignoring the hooting and yelling of his temporary boarders. They drive to Lough Derravaragh, and Paul and the other security hang back to let them walk alone.

“Here,” Harry's handing him a large paper cup, and he takes it, confused. Is surprised to feel warmth in his hands from it. “I went to the pub, asked them to put that breakfast you love so much in something portable. This was all they had.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. He smells it, and he hates how much he wants to eat it. “Thank you. This is, I'm. Surprisingly thoughtful.”

“Yeah?” he's already got the eggs in his mouth. Been missing this, doesn't care if it fucks up with his juice cleanse schedule. “I'm not used to dates, so. I hope I'm doing okay.”

“Twat, not what I'd really like to hear, but okay,” Niall laughs at him, pulling him close as they walk along the bank. “Seal of confidence.”

“I don't want to have to lie…”

“Christ, fuck me, you know,” he says, still chuckling, “I'm still fucking charmed, even when you don't even intend for it.”

“I'd hoped you'd be.” Harry says quietly, and Niall wants to yell at him a little. If just out of frustration at his general charisma. “How are you? Your friends are staying with you, yeah?”

“They are. You staying at the Greville?”

“Yeah, I mean, it's fine,” Harry says. “It's all grand and that's okay, but, I don't know. Your place was just, you know. I felt like I could be myself there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like. It was honest with me and I didn't feel like I had to pretend,” he says, slowing his sentences and Niall rolls his eyes, because reading between the lines is supposed to be subtle. Harry doesn't know what that word is. “Like. I felt like. Like-”

“Normal?” he provides, but he's shaking his head.

“Not necessarily,” he says, “Just. Closer to what I'm supposed to be, maybe. Makes me feel like maybe being a prince isn't quite as bad as I'd thought. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I just needed someone else's perspective.”

“Quite some place, if it can make you feel that way,” he teases, and Harry grins.

“Calm, centered, at peace-”

“Yeah, alright,” Niall says, smiling. “Seems like a good fit for you.”

“It is. We fit,” Harry tells him, no hesitation in his voice, and it makes him pause. For him to sound so sure, so genuine. “I know that we can.”

“Right,” he says, and he's scared. Not even in a bad way, but. It's strange to be scared when you're sure of something, if only for the reason that you've never been sure of anything else so immediately before.

“What?”

“I think so too,” he says. “I mean. We fit, too. It’s stuffy, and annoying and way too into old shit,” he elaborates, and Harry scoffs next to him, “but. You know, it’s home.”

Harry glances at him, looking unsure, but pleased all the same. “That's nice.”

Niall smiles, more to himself, as they keep moving forward. Takes Harry's hand in his as they walk, and the silence isn't uncomfortable.

“You said we were from different worlds,” he says, after some time.

“We are.”

“Not always a bad thing,” Harry says. And once Niall thinks about it, he's not wrong. It's hard, but not completely impossible.

“So, you want to try,” he says as a statement, rather than a question.

Harry looks at him, then says quietly, “I do. I know that it won't be easy, and I'll be learning as I go. I'm not very used to this, but. You're a rarity. I want to try being in your world, and I want you in mine. If that's okay.”

Niall observes him carefully, and it occurs to him how human Harry is. Not that it was lost on him before, but it's very clear now, how vulnerable he can be.

He chooses not to answer verbally, instead kissing him softly, quickly.

“Sorry, that's all you're getting, we’re in public,” he whispers once they separate, but the beam and gentle look on Harry's face tells him he doesn't quite mind.

.

Just figures that he gets ill, a few days into the trip. Not anything horrible, just a bit of a cold and a fever that had petered out after a few hours, but enough for Bressie to have a mini freak out and order him to stay away from the kids. He'd tried to go anyway, of course, only for Zayn to drive him home for the day after Sister Loisa had given him the look, and he had left him there, fucking twats. So he's here, alone, until they get back at around six, which is still hours away.

“Hate them all,” Niall's muttering, sniffing a bit as he shuffles to the front door as the bell rings. “Just a bloody cold, as if it's the fucking plague, or cholera. Fucking fuckers-”

“Maybe I shouldn't have brought you out to the lake,” is Harry's first sentence, once Niall opens the door. He wasn't expecting him, but he opens the door anyway for him to come in, is a little confused when Paul and the lads don't follow, shaking their heads and barely hiding their smirks. Lot of twats. “You got sick.”

“It's just a _cold,_ fucks sake,” Niall's muttering, wiping at his nose with his sleeve, which is admittedly disgusting. He makes a face, then says, “Ireland surprised me with a cold front I wasn't prepared for.”

“That's what you get for not wearing a _coat_ ,” Harry's telling him, showing off his own emerald green one, removing it carefully before hanging it on the rack.

“It's useless if you don't button up your fucking shirts all the way - god, never mind,” he says, blinking a little as the world spins for a millisecond. “Why are you here?”

“Went to the center, then Liam said you were sick, so. I brought you lunch,” he says, holding up a tupperware, the contents sloshing within. “Stew, potatoes and carrots and everything, came from the kitchens, so you know it's good. Eilis also sends you her love, and a daisy bouquet.”

“Oh, well,” Niall accepts the flowers, and he feels the slightest bit better already. “I'll just heat that up-”

“It's okay, I'll do it,” Harry says with a soft smile. “Just get some rest. Where's that magical pill box you always have around-”

Niall's sat down on the couch in the sitting room five minutes later, just having taken something to get rid of his congested nose, and Harry's bringing in a tray of stew, steaming enough for swirls of hot air waft above it. He sits down next to Niall, and they argue over what channel to watch on the telly, as is natural, though Harry eventually relents and lets him watch the final between Murray and Djokovic, and Niall feels himself warm from the inside out. Doesn't quite know if it's from the stew or the heating or Harry or whatever.

When he's on that high after Djokovic wins, he can feel Harry's eyes on him, so he turns, finds him staring, and asks, “What is it?”

Harry shakes his head, before he's crawling on top of him, trying to pull his face closer, and Niall startles. Leans away, tells him, “Harry, _no._ ”

“You just said it was a cold!”

“So you're just going to get sick on purpose?” Niall scoffs at him, turning his head so Harry doesn't catch his mouth. “Paul will have my head if I get His Royal Highness ill.”

“Blondie, he whines, but Niall doesn't budge. Stares him down after nearly catching the corner of his mouth, and Harry seems to yield to it, though very reluctantly.

He pouts, but doesn't make a move away. Doesn't make any move to kiss him either, but he looks contemplative for a moment. Then.

“Well,” he says, lays himself over Niall anyway, kissing his neck instead. “I'll find other ways.”

“Harry,” he says weakly, as a mark is being sucked into his neck, and Harry's hips are thrusting down a bit. “I don't think it works that way.”

Harry hums, his hands everywhere, always on him, his hips going harder, and Niall knows that it's deliberate. He's kissing him everywhere but on the mouth, pulling him close.

“God, I love these,” he's murmuring, adjusting the glasses on Niall's nose. “Couldn't stop looking at you, first time I saw you. Even if you were a twat.”

“Idiot,” Niall mumbles in reply, gasping when Harry thrusts down on him harder.

Harry doesn't seem satisfied, and gives him a wicked look, before he sneaks his hand between them and palms at his crotch. Niall swears at him under his breath, and all he does his grin as he gets him hard in his joggers. He pulls down his bottoms, and gets his hand around him.

Niall lets out a strangled groan, and Harry bites as his earlobe before slithering down, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

“Can I?” he's asking, leveling with his erection, eyes wide as he looks up at him. Niall throws his head back and moans, nodding haphazardly and hoping Harry gets it. Must have, because he's licking at his length then, testing out the waters, and Niall thrusts down instinctively, trying to keep quiet.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbles as Harry sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, sucking a little. “Harry.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, before he's taking him deeper, his mouth so warm around him. He takes him so well, makes him lose his breath and bite his lip hard enough to bleed, as Harry blows him and gets him wet, bobbing his head on him.

He pulls on Harry's hair a little, making him hum around a mouth full of cock, closing his eyes at the sensation. Goes even deeper, lets Niall fuck his mouth a bit, and Niall feels it to the ends of his toes. Gets close much too quickly, and he tells Harry just as much, which just spurs him on to go faster. Goes far enough that he can feel his cock breach a new tightness, different and incredible, and Niall moans loudly when he realizes it's Harry's throat.

Niall turns his head, can't take much more of it and biting at the cushions, and he tries to warn Harry, patting his cheek the lightest bit when he feels like he's about to come. Harry doesn't miss a beat, just grabs at his thighs and goes even faster. Niall can't take it, and a groan strangles it's way out of his throat, only slightly muffled as he comes down Harry's throat.

“ _Shit,_ ” he mutters blushing slightly when Harry pops off of him with a lingering kiss to the head. He's grinning, the slightest hint of red on his skin as well as he comes back up, almost kisses him before he remembers that he can't, and he pouts. Niall laughs at him, kisses the top of his head to appease him.

“Take some vitamin C before you go. Think I've got a pill for that,” Niall tells him, and it makes him snort, pinching at his hip before he snuggles up to him.

.

They're in Mullingar for just under a week. He gets better quickly, forces himself to not be sick, practically, just so he could go to the groundbreaking. It goes well, feels rather grand with a ceremony and all, and it feels weird, being made to go up there with Harry with a shovel and a hard hat, digging into the soil. Completely unsurprising to him, Sister Loisa manages to scoop up the biggest amount.

The night before they're due to leave for London, he invites Harry over to his place for dinner with Liam and Zayn and Leigh-Anne. Makes Irish stew because he knows Harry likes it, and he'd looked so frightened with the prospect of being with his family. Might provide him a comfort of sorts, if anything.

He'd had nothing to worry about. Of course, Zayn being Zayn and Leigh being Leigh, they'd teased and snickered at him mercilessly, all in good fun, for the very fact that he was a posh prince with a currently-in-progress attitude. Liam, being Liam, had tried to diffuse everything band tried to make Harry more comfortable and would give stern looks at Zayn and Leigh, though it had Harry laughing anyway. Niall thinks it's because he'd gotten used to it when he'd done it so often. He even offers to help out with the washing, which the three accept enthusiastically, much to Niall's chagrin.

Liam makes a bit of an eggnog after Niall and Harry had washed and dried the dishes, and they sit round the living room. It's noisy, then quiet, and everything is comforting and familiar and home. Liam half carries Zayn out to Greg's old room, and Leigh kisses them both on the cheek as she takes her leave for the night, taking the spare room Niall had fixed up for her, because she didn’t want to take his room as its cleanliness was most likely ‘ _questionable,_ ’ which was bollocks.

“Well,” Harry says, standing to take the glasses. He'd been okay with the washing, figured it out after Niall had shown him, but Niall suspects it was only because he didn't want Zayn and Leigh-Anne to make fun of him. “I think I should get going.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, getting the others glasses and bringing them to the kitchen, Harry right behind him. Truthfully, he doesn't want him to leave. Can feel it thrumming in his veins, wants to get his hands back on him. “But. You want to see my room, before you leave?”

Harry looks at him, curious expression on his face. “Yeah, alright.”

They go up the stairs to his room, sure to keep their footsteps light so as not to disturb the peaceful quiet, and Niall shows him in, and he closes the door behind them. It's small, the smallest room in the house. Even smaller than the spare Leigh’s put up in, but Niall had never needed much to live in, anyway. It's clean, unassuming and there's not much adornment, just a few framed pictures of Sinatra and The Eagles on the walls, his old guitar hanging up beside them, but otherwise. It's always been that way, simple and neat and.

He looks round to Harry, who's looking around with the softest of smiles on his face, then tells him, “It's very you.”

“It is,” he says, wringing his hands together.

It's quiet for a while, and they just look at each other, then Harry's bringing out his stupid pink phone, typing very quickly.

“What-”

He doesn't get another word in, because Harry switches the light off and he's coming forward, grabbing his face and kissing him. Niall doesn't think twice, just returns the kiss as he licks into his mouth and sucking his bottom lip.

“Been waiting days to get to do this,” Harry mutters against his lips, pulling their bodies flush together. Niall can feel him getting hard already on his thigh. “Wanted to kiss you-”

“What about Paul? Basil?” he's asking, but, as if in reply, he hears the engines of the cars starting, then the skid of the tires as they roll out of the driveway and out to the streets, driving off.

“Told them I'd be staying here tonight,” he mumbles, licking up the column of his neck. “If. If that's okay.”

“Yeah, you wanker, of course,” Niall tells him, angling Harry's head so he can get his mouth on him, properly. “Shit-”

Harry licks across his teeth, starts pulling off Niall’s shirt, and Niall wants to participate. Unbuttons Harry's top and slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Squeezes and makes him groan into his mouth.

The cold air and the way Harry's hands roam across his skin makes him shiver in his arms, and he guides Harry on to his small bed, climbing on top of him and biting into his tattoos. Harry moans into the still air as he licks across the sparrows, the butterfly and biting into the laurels, right where they're inked over his love handles. His skin is smooth, warm and Niall can't quite get enough.

He looks up at Harry, playing with the waistband of his jeans, and Harry's scrambling, tries to get them off and it makes Niall laugh, swatting his hands away and doing it himself, revealing a tiny pair of black briefs.

“You minx, the fuck,” he has to snort, and as much as it makes him hard, it also makes him laugh. Harry humphs above him, impatient, and Niall acquiesces, pulling down his bottoms and. It occurs to him that while Harry may be well acquainted with his prick, this is the first he's seeing of Harry's, and. It's bigger than he had expected, and Niall had to pause, just stare at it fatten up at his first touch. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Harry mutters, then Niall makes it worse for him, as he makes a little kitten lick over the slit. He lets out a strangled moan, and Niall watches him come undone as he licks his cock, then take him in slightly, just into his mouth. Certainly can't fit all of him in there, but he feels like it's enough. Harry doesn't make any noise of protest, just thrusts every so often, as far as Niall will let him.

“Okay, okay,” Niall mutters, then he's removing his own jeans and bottoms, then straddling Harry and feels his erection fit itself between his arse cheeks as he settles on top of him. They both groan, trying not to make it too loud, considering they're not alone in the house, but. It's a lot to feel, and Niall wants him in him.

“Come on,” he says onto Harry's mouth, then pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom from the nightstand. He throws it on Harry's chest, and pushes his arse back on Harry's cock, and they both moan again, louder, a little less in control.

“Shit, did you always have these in there?” Harry's muttering as he takes the lube, spreads some on his fingers and warming it up for Niall.

“No, I just. Zayn had some and when he'd seen that you were here, he gave it to me,” he blushes as he answers, just as Harry's finger traces his hole. “As if I'd let those two shag in my house.”

“So-”

“I've never had sex in this room,” he says, biting at Harry's shoulder as the first finger pushes into him, slowly. It's been some time, since he'd done this. “I've. It's just, never happened, here.”

“Ni,” Harry murmurs, only moving his hand when Niall moves his hips back to take more of it in. Adds another finger at Niall's insistence, then leans his head up to kiss him. They drown their noises out in each other's mouths, as Harry fingers him and opens him up carefully, as Niall moves to get more more more. “Makes me happy, to be your first, here.”

“So fucking sentimental,” Niall's muttering, but it makes his heart stutter in his chest anyway, and he shoves his arse back on three fingers, faster and he's so ready. “Okay, okay, I'm good.”

Harry nods, pulling his fingers out and then rolling the condom down on his cock, gets himself slick, and he looks at Niall with those stupidly bright green eyes of his, quietly asking if he was okay, and Niall nods, reaches back to grasp Harry's dick. Guides the head to his arse, and he pushes down on it, screwing his eyes shut at the intrusion, taking it in as best as he can.

“Niall,” Harry murmurs, squeezing his sides, and Niall shakes his head, breathes hard as he adjusts around his cock. It's a lot to take in, but it's not unpleasant. He clenches his arse around him, earning him a grunt and an involuntary upward thrust, and he moans at how unexpectedly good it makes him feel.

He sits up properly, rises and feels his dick slip out, a little, then until only the head is in, he fucks himself back down, hard and all at once, and they both groan at the sensation. Niall rides him, hard and fast and not wasting any time, up and down and he's bouncing on Harry's cock, taking him in beautifully, and it feels amazing.

Harry lets out these small noises, one after the other, and he tries to shove up, tries to help, but Niall leans down, hovers over him with his hands on either side of Harry's head. Kisses him, licks into his mouth and getting a new angle, and he rolls his hips into it, tries to get him even deeper.

Harry thrusts up just right, Niall pushes his arse down on his cock in counterpart, and he throws his head back and lets out a guttural noise, from deep within as his dick brushes just perfectly against his spot. He works at that angle, his own cock hard and thrusting against Harry's stomach, the friction minimal but incredible.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Harry murmurs against his lips, “fuck, so good.”

“Christ, _there, right there_ ,” Niall's whimpering as he fucks himself down and he sets a hand on Harry's chest, balancing himself. His nails dig into his skin, and he moans, long and not quite loud, tries to keep it contained. The most they can hear in the room is their labored breathing, their skin slapping together as they meet.

“Niall,” is all Harry can get out, before he lets out a strangled noise and holds on to his hip tightly, bringing him down to his cock and making him stay as he comes in him, feels it as he spurts into the condom, chest heaving along with his slow, hard breathing. “Shit, fucking shit, fuck.”

“Harry,” he whines, and Harry responds in kind. He immediately attaches his lips to Niall's, guides him to lift up off of his cock slightly, then shoves him back down, and repeats this, over and over. He gets a hand on his dick, and pulls him off to the pace he'd set, and it doesn't take much until Niall's close, grunting as he squeezes around Harry's still hard length, making him whimper at the sensitivity. Niall thrusts into Harry's hold, coming and spilling over his fingers.

“ _Oh, fuck,_ ” he moans, knows it's much louder than it’s supposed to be, but he can't be arsed to care all that much. He falls on top of Harry, who pulls him close and begins to leave kisses all over his face. He pulls out of him, and Niall winces at the feeling, and he gets off the bed with wobbly, deer limbs. Tiptoes to the door, and opens it slightly, looking out, and Niall snorts as he sneaks out of the room to the shared bathroom across the hall.

He comes back, cock rid of the condom and with a flannel in his hand, and he climbs carefully back on the bed and begins cleaning Niall off gently.

He hums, closing his eyes, suddenly very tired, and when he opens them again, Harry's back next to him on the mattress, curling up into his body, leaving a soft press of his lips against his heart.

He's asleep before he realizes it, warm and sated and. At home.

.

They're not exactly teased outrightly the next morning, but. When Harry comes into the kitchen, having had to borrow one of Niall's jumpers and a pair of jeans, just the slightest bit tighter than what he's used to, he can see the way Leigh-Anne's and Zayn’s eyes just brighten and the smirks on their faces, can see the way they're eyebrows just arch in question. Liam's nice enough to get a plate ready for each of them, but the blush is obvious in his face. Niall coming in a bit later on with a shirt that does nothing to hide the mark Harry had left on his neck doesn't make things any better.

The three have an earlier flight, so they leave before the morning ends, but he and Niall aren't scheduled to leave for at least a few more hours, so. He finds himself sitting shotgun in Niall's car, Paul and the other lads following behind them, and they're driving off to some place Harry's never been to. When they get there, he startles, then tells Niall, “Wait, I need to get flowers-”

“Nah, come as you are,” he tells him, giving him him a gentle smile, then he's getting out of the car once he's parked, then he goes to his side, pulls the door open for him. “Come on, want you to meet them.”

Harry breathes, feels his palms go clammy, but he nods, then takes Niall's offered hand in his, then there's walking over to the Horan family plot. It's simple, as he'd might have expected, but it's well kept, clean and uncluttered.

“Ma, Da,” Niall's saying as they stop in front of two plain, black granite markers, the name of Niall's mother etched in gold on the one on the left, the name of his father on the right. “This is Harry. He's a prince, but that's not that important, yeah?”

Harry doesn't know how to react to that. Doesn't know if he should snort, or sob at the unexpected poignant moment, or just lose his words altogether, so overwhelmed at it all.

“Harry, my mother, Maura, my father, Bobby,” Niall says, and it's all he can do to nod to both stones.

“Hello,” he says quietly. It feels like a defining, important moment. “I'm. I don't know what to say, shit - ah _, shit-”_

Niall laughs, pulls him close and squeezes his side, says, “Yeah. They would have liked you.”

Harry can't quite take it. Leans in and kisses him in the cheek, leaves his lips there, and Niall just allows him to stay like that, not really speaking either as he goes quiet.

.

“Come to Buckingham,” he says, 20,000 or something feet above the ground.

“Harry, christ,” Niall says, peering over his glasses as he tries to work on his report on his laptop. “You inviting me to the most famous residence in all of the United Kingdom?”

“Well,” he shrugs, because. “Yes.”

“What the fuck for?” he says.

“I want you to meet my family,” Harry tells him, and Niall stops typing at that. “Like, you know. Louis, my mum, Gems, if she's there. I don't know if she's still in Africa, or if she's come back. I mean, if not. I mean. If you're not okay with it-”

“Yeah, okay,” Niall tells him, looking up and giving him a small, nervous, but very present smile. “You've met mine, so. It's only fair.”

“Yeah?” Harry's saying, and he can't not smile. Gets off of his seat and goes over to him, settling into his lap after he's put aside the laptop. “God, thank you-”

“Harry, jesus, you've got any decency?” Niall's murmuring, blushing profusely at the snickering Paul and Basil and the other security team are throwing their way.

“They'll have to deal with it, fuck ‘em,” he mutters, hiding his face in Niall's neck and snuggling close. “Wear that Tom Ford suit, they'll love it-”

“Shut it,” he says, lifting his head up to place a soft kiss on the hinge of his jaw.

.

“Shit, shit, shit, why did I agree to this,” he's muttering frantically as he tries to tie the tie around his neck. “Holy fuck, it was one thing to meet Harry, twat, and his dad, but. Fuck, meeting his mum and the sister and his cousin and whoever as the person he's dating. Holy fuck, what if the Queen turns out to be at home? Oh my god-”

“Ah, Niall, you're going to choke yourself, stop it,” Zayn says, getting up from the bed to tie it for him. He can't seem to stop fidgeting, trying to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles and creases on his deep blue suit, just the slightest but shimmery, with a subtle checkered pattern. Zayn had been the one to pick it out, so he trusts his taste, but it doesn't make him any less nervous. Doesn't know what the dress code is in Buckingham Palace, or.

“Holy shit, am I underdressed-”

“Niall, you look good, don't worry,” Leigh-Anne says from her perch on his desk. “It's not too formal, but still posh, all proper. I'd definitely shag you.”

“That doesn't help,” he mutters, now choosing to fiddle with his glasses, his hair.

“Come on, Ni, don’t overthink it,” Liam says from the bed. “He likes you enough to want you to meet his family. I don’t think he’s ever done that, yeah?”

“How am I supposed to do this?” he sighs, his chest tight with anxiety and this stupid nervousness that doesn’t seem to get any better.

“Just be you, yeah?” Zayn tells him, tightening the tie and smoothing out his shoulders. “That should be more than enough. You being you got Harry to straighten up, right? That’s incentive enough for them to like you.”

Niall looks at him, then back at his reflection in the mirror. He sees the same face he's known forever, look unsure and many other things he's not familiar with. It's a scary, frightening concept. Then, he thinks of Harry, of how undeniably different he feels with him, how much he's come to prove himself and how even though Niall still makes fun of him whenever he gets the opportunity, he takes it all in stride and just plays off of him. How sure he is.

“Arghh,” he lets out a strangled groan in his frustration, in the end, and they all laugh at him. He flips them off in kind, and he feels better already.

.

Niall looks amazing, is Harry's first thought when he comes to meet him in the receiving room of the Palace. He feels immediately inadequate, in a pretentious floral shirt and his normal jeans, but Niall lights up when he sees him.

“Okay, I'm overdressed,” he says, chuckling nervously, but Harry reels him in to greet him a kiss. “Should've given me a dress code, twat.”

“Consider it payback,” he says, grinning cheekily, and he nods to the personnel in the room, who nod back, and he walks out  of the room hand in hand with Niall, and he begins pointing out the different rooms as they pass by them. Niall takes it in incredibly well; if he's any bit as nervous as Harry is, he doesn't let it show, just smiles and greets anyone they encounter politely, barely reacts when Harry grips his hand to death. Just holds back just as tightly.

“And this is my room, whenever I stay here,” he says as they go up to his personal quarters. He opens the double doors, be guides Niall into the suite, through entertaining area with the couches and television and personal bar and tiny, but well-equipped kitchen, through his bathroom and walk-in closet, and into his bedroom proper, with his unnecessarily big bed, tall windows, magnificently draped, and whatnot.

“My whole flat is maybe a quarter of the size of this,” Niall says as he looks around, but before Harry can berate himself for being tactless, Niall gives him a small smile, then pulls him in to press his lips against his. “It's very you.”

“Ostentatious? Extravagant? Flamboyant?” he offers, wraps his arms over his shoulders.

“Larger than life,” Niall says instead, and Harry beams, before kissing him and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Nope, no shagging on my watch,” Louis inconveniently intervenes, barging into the room and loudly making his presence known. “It’s the middle of the day, idiot.”

Harry pulls away from Niall, just to glare at his cousin. Niall looks back, and to his credit, doesn’t blush as Louis gives him this sly grin.

“Lou, this is Niall,” Harry steps back from Niall, letting him straighten himself up. “Niall, this is Louis, he’s my cousin.”

“Built-in best friend, as if he had a choice,” Louis says in addition, beaming at him mischievously before shaking Niall’s hand.

“You the Lord Viscount, then?” Niall says, and Louis barks out a laugh, clearly not expecting it.

“Where’d you hear someone call me that?”

“Paul,” Niall just shrugs, and he just laughs louder.

“Yeah. that’s technically me, but Louis is preferred,” he says, “Heard a lot about you, mate. Made my twat of a cousin less of a twat?”

“Yes,” comes Niall’s reply, completely serious, and Harry frowns at them both. Louis grins, and pulls Niall in to wrap an arm over his shoulder and steer him out to the couch room. Already conniving and they’ve just met, and Harry knows, just does, that they’ll make his life difficult.

Harry follows them out, can barely process what they’re talking about, something about sports and footie and other shit, hears his name somewhere in the mix, but he can’t quite pay attention. He blanks out, just watches them get along, watches Louis laugh loudly at almost everything Niall says. It’s going much, much better than he’d anticipated, if just for Louis’s reaction to Niall.

“Harry, for once, you’ve chosen right,” Louis yells over to him. “Your boyfriend’s too good for you!”

He freezes at the word, and they haven't quite given a word for what they are, but he does want to be that. Wants to be Niall's boyfriend, wants Niall to be his boyfriend. He takes a moment before looking over to Niall, and he's smiling at Louis, shaking his head, before he glances up to meet Harry's gaze. His eyes go tender, and he knows that he's more than alright with the word, with the way he looks at Harry. He can't help but come forward, place a small kiss on Niall's forehead, making Louis audibly gag at them.

They go back down, settling into one of the receiving rooms, ornate and classic in design, and Louis must sense how nervous they are, because he immediately launches into a story, from when he and Harry were attending a charity match once and Harry had fumbled a save when Tony Hadley kicked the ball into the goal, completely pathetic. It gets them both more relaxed, makes Niall laugh, makes Harry pout and frown again, but nonetheless, feeling more comfortable.

It takes a few more exchanged stories before Anne and Gemma come in to meet them, and once it's happened, Harry doesn't know why he was so nervous in the first place. Thinks it might be because Niall is the first person he's really introducing to any of them because he'd actually wanted to, but Niall is as charming, as polite and kind as he always is. He, without almost any trouble at all, manages to make his mother and sister just immediately charmed, the way he was, even if he'd insulted him then. Is free with his compliments and speaks kindly, but frankly, of Harry, of his experiences with him in Ireland, and is just so. Him, so Niall, and Harry is so so so endeared and is so close to being fully in love. He didn't need to be worried, at all.

He catches the manic, not at all subtle grin and double thumbs up Louis sends him from the other side of the room, and he rolls his eyes, but returns it anyway.

They end up having supper in one of the smaller dining rooms, used for more private functions, and the good feeling doesn't end. Niall's just so incredible with people in the first place, doesn't matter if they're five years old or several, decades, years older than he is, he just knows how to deal with them, amazingly well. Makes Harry think that he's the one meant to be a prince, and not him, and he thinks it to be incredibly fitting, for him. Is very glad, that he'd decided to invite Niall in the first place, glad that he'd decided to trust his gut feeling, with him.

.

Harry's called to Old Windsor the next day, and the unpleasant churning in his stomach and tightness in his chest is back, full force. He's aware that his father is okay with Niall, as an employee, as his warden, of sorts. But as his boyfriend, he's not sure. He can't quite tell, and he knows he's been told, what with Paul and the other security who'd been with them, and if not through them, through his mum, or Gems, or. He doesn't want to think about it too much, psyche himself out before he's even gotten a chance but it makes him nervous all the same.

“Harry,” Des greets him, small smile on his face, a good sign, and Harry nods in reply, takes the seat in front of the desk as is offered to him with a gesture. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” Harry answers, not really knowing how to converse with him. Small talk isn't really in his dad’s wheelhouse, funnily enough.

“Ireland treated you well?”

“Very well, was very happy to be back there,” he says, and it's true.

“I suspect there were many reasons, as to why you like it there,” he says, and Harry feels his heart race nervously in his chest.

“Yes, there were.”

“It's quite silly, to avoid the subject, isn't it?” Des says finally. “We both know why you're here, Harry.”

He doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know in exactly what direction to steer this conversation. Doesn't know if he wants to explain it all, or if he just wants it over and done with. Niall deserves more than that, so he stays silent.

“It's come to my knowledge that you are now in a relationship with Mr. Horan,” he says, and he nods, because. It's not wrong, at all. “Since when?”

“Not very long, officially,” he answers. His palms are cold, sweaty. Tries to wipe them on his jeans discreetly. “A few weeks. Since the second time, in Mullingar.”

“I see,” his father says, nodding a bit as he thinks. “Well, forgive me, but I must ask you this. Do you like him, truly?”

“I do, very, very much,” he says, with no hesitation in his voice. “Dad, if this is about him revealing anything, or. I don't, Niall isn't like that-”

“Oh, no, no. It's not that at all,” he shakes his head. “I do trust Niall, very much so. He's been very good for us. For you, especially, and I see now, just how much.”

Harry blushes, can't quite hide it from his father, but Des is tactful, doesn't mention it.

“It's just,” he tries to begin, stopping when he can't find the right words to continue. He visibly has difficulty, coming up with the proper way to say it, and he starts out, carefully, “Now, please understand. This is not to deter you from seeing him, or. Whatever you think I'm saying. Please, please know Harry, I have nothing against him, nothing against the two of you. I trust that you two are very good for one another. You seem much happier.”

“I am.”

“Yes, that is good,” he says, in that same, careful tone, barely disguising hesitance. “But. And this is not to say that he's not good for you, Harry, not at all. Nothing against his background, or his history or his job. Nothing at all, please understand, I've got no problems at all. But. You're in the public eye, you know this is going to be difficult for you.”

“I am aware,” he says stiffly, because of course he is. He's thought about this, he's thought it all through, and. He's sure knows he wants Niall. At least wants the chance.

“Please, I'm not trying to stop you from being together,” he says. “But, I think it better you hear it from me, rather than your grandmother, god forbid, or the public relations team.”

“Okay,” he says, not quite convinced, but.

“Harry, this is going to be incredibly, incredibly difficult. For both of you,” he says. “It's one thing to be with someone who's not of royalty, or influence. We've crossed that bridge, many years ago. Reaffirmed it when your cousin married Catherine. To be with someone not of British descent, however. Moreover, and this isn't meant to offend you, or anyone of the persuasion, but, to be in a relationship with a man. It's just. It's nothing we've really ever handled, before.”

“I know all of this,” he says, and he tries to be amiable, benevolent, but it's hard. He knows all of this, is aware of all of it. Doesn't make him feel any differently about Niall. Doesn't like it, even more, when he hears someone talk about him like that. Like it's causing a problem, because it's not.

“Harry, all I’m saying is, you know we won't be able to guide you through it,” he says, slowly. Is careful with his words and his tone. “I'm not stopping you, not at all. I just want you to be ready, to not tell anyone about it, to not be able to go out together or be in any sense public, at least not yet, not for a while. I hope he's prepared for that.”

“It's not their business, anyway,” he says, tries to keep his voice civil. “I truly, genuinely like Niall. I know that I would at least like to be given the chance to be with him, regardless of limitations with what we can do publicly. Is this your only concern, regarding my relationship with him?”

His father doesn't reply, just watches him carefully, and Harry takes the silence as his answer.

“Well, please trust that I am very much aware of the risks and unspoken rules,” he says, and he only ever speaks so formally when he's pushed to his limit. “Thank you for your concern, dad. I'll be fine. We'll be alright.”

“Okay, as you wish,” Des stands as he gets to his feet, and he shakes his hand as it is offered to him in goodbye.

He leaves feeling hollow, that he can't be with Niall the way he really wants to, but all the more sure of his decisions. If he's ever made a smart choice, it all points to him.

.

“Harry, he’s your dad, he’s just looking out for you,” Niall, actual angel who always tries to see the very best in people even if it’s undeserved, tells him.

He whines in reply, rolling around the mattress and flailing his legs around, making Niall snort at him as he swats away his limbs. It’s been a few days since he’d gone to Old Windsor, and this is the first time he’d seen Niall since then. He’d been so busy with work, and Harry’s had to do shit as well, now that he’s decided to be an active member of the Royal Family. Been working with The Playground and trying to work out details of an official partnership, but unfortunately, none of the negotiations have coincided with Niall’s schedule.

They’d been given a reprieve, though. Had seen an opening in both their schedules and took advantage of it, and they’d had a small dinner in and have taken to his suite for the last few hours, watching anything Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan at Harry’s request and just lounging about. They can’t quite go out, and he understands that, is okay with that, but now that he’s actually having to do it, it is more difficult, than he had initially anticipated.

He’d told Niall everything that had happened between him and his father back when he’d been summoned to the official residence, and it’s not like Niall’s taking his dad’s side, not really, but.

“I’m allowed to be annoyed,” he says, petulantly, fully aware he’s being childish.

“Of course,” Niall tells him, lays down next to him from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed. Leans up on his arm, says, “I wasn’t saying that you weren’t. It’s just, I have to agree. It’s not going to get much easier from this point on.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Harry asks him, moving so he can curl up next to him and rub his face on his jumper, so soft and it smells like him. Smells like home.

“Well, it would take some getting used to,” he answers honestly, playing with the curls at the back of his neck, and Harry purrs into it, feels much better than he had expected. “But I’d already expected for this to happen, to tell you the truth. You’re a fucking _prince_ , Harry. It’s not going to be simple, and I knew that, coming in.”

“I just, I don’t want someone giving this an end date, when it’s just beginning,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet. Not in any way uncomfortable, just soft and gentle, all peaceful and nothing he’s really ever experienced before.

Niall allows him a few moments of that peace, before he says quietly, “I don't think he ever gave it an end date, Harry.”

“He might have never said it, out loud, but I know him well enough to know that he'd meant for me to read between the lines,” he says. another few moments of silence, and he adds quietly, “It's not fair.”

“It's not.”

“I don't want an end date,” he says, and the atmosphere in the room becomes a little more tense, more serious.

“So soppy,” Niall snorts softly, and Harry knows he means for it to come off as a lighthearted comment, but it doesn't quite deliver that way. He tilts Harry's head up, kisses him softly.

Harry pushes into it, chases after his lips after he's pulled away slightly, moves until he's lying almost on top of him.

“Harry,” Niall murmurs as he tries to get closer. “It's getting quite late, I think it be best if I go on ahead.”

“No, don't,” he says, tries to somehow melt into him. “Don't go, stay the night.”

“You and I both know that's not at all smart,” he says. “And I'll get you in trouble, if I stay. I don't want that.”

“Paul can-”

“Paul can only do so much for you,” he tells him. “You have to help yourself too, you know.”

“I know,” he admits, though he doesn't like it much. Frowns a little, thinking, before he's straddling him, and kissing him properly, pushing his tongue into his mouth and it's not enough. “Please,” he whispers, tries to get closer, “Please, if you have to go, then. Please, before you leave.”

Niall looks at him, really tries to gage his thoughts, and eventually, he kisses back, gets his hands under Harry's shirt and his hands are warm on his back, running smoothly across his skin, like he knows how Harry feels, which he suspects he does.

Niall turns them over so he's hovering above Harry, lips soft and insistent on his as he undoes the buttons on his shirt with a slow, careful pace, touching every bit of skin revealed to him. Harry arches into it, moaning into his mouth as he strips Niall of his top. He gets his hand on him, everywhere he can reach, and Niall makes these small, pleased noises against his skin as he leaves traces from his lips everywhere.

Their hips grind together, slow and sure, and Harry can feel himself harden in his jeans, feels Niall do the same in his own as well. Takes the moment to reach over and take his lube and a condom from his nightstand, and before long Niall's slithering down his body, pulling down his jeans and his cock springs to bounce against his stomach, and it's not enough, not nearly enough.

He whines when Niall's finally got something in him, the slick press of a finger probing at his hole, just touching the rim until he's pushing in slowly. Niall kisses him all the while, sniffing him and keeping him in the moment, and Harry rolls his hips into it, more and more with every finger Niall opens him up with.

He's up to three when Harry can't control his noise anymore, whimpering and moaning and swearing as his prostate is stimulated and he's sure he's begging. He hears Niall moving, removing his own jeans and bottoms, the soft tear of the condom packet and he closes his eyes, waiting for it. Feels his hips being lifted to accommodate a pillow under his arse to get a better angle, and Niall lays himself over Harry, molding himself into his body perfectly and filling every space of his consciousness. He tilts Harry's head up, and he's forced to look into those soft blue eyes, almost black with how dilated his pupils are, but he waits for Harry's okay, and it's given, quickly, immediately.

Niall aligns himself at his entrance, and carefully, he fills Harry up, sure and slow until he's full to the brim with it, can feel his balls on his arse cheeks, and Harry lets out a son with how overwhelmed he feels. It's not like he's never bottomed, but. He feels Niall everywhere, wants him everywhere, and he knocks his foot against bum, telling him wordlessly to move.

Niall acquiesces, and he pulls out slow, then fucks back in hard, hard enough that Harry's body jolts up the bed from the force of it, and it's incredible.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Harry's whimpering as he's pushed into, feeling perfect and sexy and. Wanted, for who he is, and not what he is. “Niall, oh god. Harder, fuck me harder.”

“Harry,” Niall murmurs like a prayer, and does as he's told. Still slow, still in that excruciating pace, but he gives it to him harder, thrusts in with such force and Harry loves this. Loves being pounded into, and it's incredible, but it's also. It doesn't feel like it's enough. Wants to melt into him, feels like as much as this is amazing, as much as how incredible this makes him feel, he wants more. Wants to carry a bit of Niall with him, always. Wants Niall to have the same, for him.

“Hey,” Niall whispers, kissing him softly. “Hey, stay here, with me.”

“Sorry, ah,” he tries to apologize, but he groans just as Niall aims particularly well, his cock fucking into his arse just right and brushing against the bundle of nerves, spot on. “Shit. Was just thinking.”

“Share with the class?” Niall tries, pausing in his thrusting, and Harry can feel him throb within him. And his chest almost can't contain it, stretched tight over his heart and how his fingers tingle with the feeling of just. Giving the himself, so willingly.

“Maybe, one day,” he answers, and Niall gives him a look so gentle his throat clogs up. “Please, faster. Fuck me.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he gives him what he wants, without reserve. He fucks him properly, fast and hard and pushing into his body over and over and Harry throws his head back, groans into the still air. Feels him bury his cock into his willing arse and just. Really, really, fuck him.

Niall is rather quiet, when he shags. Swears and lets out an occasional moan, but he's got nothing on Harry, who lets out a stream of little “ _uh-uh-uhs”_ when he's not cursing up a storm or letting out these devastating groans and moans. He's just short of shouting, trying to reel it in because he doesn't know who's home, but when Niall hammers into his arse, he bites into his shoulder just to drown it in, pathetically. His body is shoved up the bed with every thrust in, and Niall reaches out to grip at the headboard, huffing a little as he gets closer to coming.

Harry doesn't stand a chance, when Niall whispers his name, just his name, over and over as he loses his rhythm. Comes between them, mostly untouched, shooting white ever here as he shivers at the intensity of his orgasm. Niall comes soon after, after Harry had grabbed at his arse and urged him to finish off inside him. And he feels it, imagines him spilling into the condom, right in him, and it makes him moan one last time, a little bit more cum spurting out from the tip of his dick.

“Oh, love,” Niall strokes his cheek, accepts Harry's whimper into his mouth as he pulls out, slowly. Cleans them up with gentle wipes of the warm, damp flannel, and Harry feels his throat close up again when Niall lays his covers over him carefully, hands always so caring, and he watches as he gets himself dressed. It heartens him, though, that Niall looks like he doesn't want to leave, every bit as much as Harry doesn't want him to.

Harry hands him his glasses, and Niall looks at it for a moment, before taking it with a slightly trembling hand, and sets it aside. Chooses to sit next to him, and brush his hair back from his face.

“You're okay, right?” he asks him quietly, and Harry nods, holds on to the hand stroking his hair and placing a small kiss in the heart of his palm.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “I really wish you could stay.”

“I do too,” he replies, and Harry can hear his heart in his voice. Closes his eyes when Niall leans down to kiss his temple, just where his hairline starts. Feels so stupidly overwhelmed, and it should be scary, but it isn't, at all. Just feels right, like home. If this is what it feels like. Then, he wants more. Wants all of it, as much as he's allowed.

“I'll see you soon, okay?” Niall says by way of his goodbye for the night, and Harry nods. Says it right back, and he's given one last kiss on his lips, before Niall's standing, getting his stuff, scattered all round the room, and he leaves, hand up in a simple wave and the softest look on his face as he takes his leave, turning the rest of the lights off in the room for him.

Once he's sure he's alone, Harry thumps his head back on his pillow, and bites his lips as a few unexpected, stupid tears leak out of his eyes. Feels weird, but not unpleasant. Like. He's finally just so sure, just right where he should be going. It's satisfying, and it hurts in the way he's not used to. Thrumming with excitement and hope. Like his heart is about to beat right out of his chest and just consume him, and it's dangerous, but. He settles into the slight ache in his muscles, his limbs, and he cannot find a way to feel bad about it, because he knows it's not bad, for once. This one time, when he's sure it really does matter.

.

Niall manages, barely, to convince Harry to sneak out. Not like, full on rogue; Paul and Basil are still coming along, but it's certainly more private as far as their outings go.

He brings him to the bánh mì place he frequents, sitting in the back and Mark stares a bit when he realizes who Niall's with, but he doesn't make a sound, just hands him their sandwiches and smirks at him. Niall appreciates him for his subtlety.

Paul and Basil sit a few tables away, eating their own sandwiches and chatting up Mark, and they end up bonding over fitness regimens and recipes for an amazing roast, as he and Harry find some quiet between them. It's comforting, and Harry relaxes in the laid back environment, where no one seems to care all that much who he is, what he's doing here with Niall, why he's there.

It turns out that these kinds of dates were very few, very far between. Niall takes it as a win, though, that he even got to take Harry out to one of his places. He doubts that he'll see much more than the inside of his suite in Buckingham, as long as he's with him. Not the most ideal of circumstances, but he'll take what he can get. For now.

.

“You've been quiet,” Rochelle passes by his desk, and Liam does a shit job of pretending not to listen Niall rolls his eyes, and goes on typing, knowing she won't stop talking. True to form, she continues, “Like, dead quiet. You're always laughing or making some sort of a ruckus or what have you. Did something happen between you and Prince Whatsis?”

“Harry and I are okay,” he replies, sending off the emails to the sponsors as he speaks. They're a few months in, they see each other at least twice a week and talk to each other at least once a day, and it's not completely perfect. It's hard, he can't ever go out with him, really, but he's not complaining. He really is very, very happy. “We’re really okay. No need to worry, Mummy Roch.”

“But. You're so quiet.”

“Not a bad thing,” Jade’s calling out from the other side of the room, and Niall rolls his eyes as he gets started on another email.

“Just. I'm just happy,” he says, smiling to himself.

“Really?” she sounds a little surprised. He looks up then, curious as to why she sounds like that, and she clears her throat before explaining, “Just. I know no row couples are ever exactly alike, but. I'd always expected that you'd be he kind to want to yell about it, shove it in everyone's faces. You know, bounce and shine like the sun.”

Niall smirks at the comparison, and he says, “Well, I don't have to do all that to show that I'm happy, right?”

“Well, yeah, that's up to you, of course,” she tells him, agreeing.

“Well, it turns out I'm not the type to do that, then,” he tells her in reply, shrugging a bit because it's the best way he can explain it. “I'm happy, very much so. I just don't think I need to proclaim it to everyone just to get the message across.”

“It's just a different side to you I'm not quite used to seeing,” she says, and Liam stops typing, stops feigning and looks up to watch them. “It's definitely not bad. It's just different. He kind of calms you, doesn't he?”

“I don't know, it's not just that,” he says, “definitely not just that. It's so much more. It's hard to explain, I don't know.”

“Well, fuck both of you, then,” Leigh’s saying then, coming in and carrying a gigantic bouquet of white roses, setting them down in front of him with a thump. “These came with its own security, you tit.”

“Are these from him?” he asks, taking the flowers in his arms and sniffing them. The cold, withering glare he gets in turn is enough to make him shrink in his seat, bury his face in the delicate blooms. Just then, his phone begins to ring, and after seeing the caller ID, he tries his hardest to hide his blush, but the smirks on all of their faces tell him he's failed.

“Harry,” he answers after the next ring, and he closes his eyes at the sighs and squeals from them. “Hi. You got to Mullingar okay?”

 _“Yeah, flight was fine. Going to be leaving soon, go for a bit of a site visit for the new building,”_ he replies, and he sounds much too far away. _“Going to have dinner with Bressie and the sisters later, they're making a roast.”_

“They're cooking for you now, they must love you,” he says, smiling quietly. Flips off Liam as he sighs with this great grin on his face. “Send them my regards.”

 _“You got the flowers, then?”_ Harry asks him. _“It's not anything Eilis could grow, but. I thought they'd make you smile.”_

“Yeah they really did,” he answers, holds the bouquet closer. “Got good taste, you. Sometimes.”

Harry chuckles on the other line, and Niall misses him. _“Feels weird, being here without you.”_

“You'll survive,” he says dryly, and it makes him laugh even harder. “I'll see you when you come back, yeah? I'll help you make your speech.”

 _“Yay,”_ Harry drawls sarcastically, and it's Niall's turn to chuckle. Knows Harry doesn't do particularly well with public speaking, more so because he's never had to give a speech or address in his life, and now, with his official partnership with their organization and the center in Mullingar, he's going to have to speak at one point. Going to come sooner than later, what with the official announcement and formal dinner event welcoming him to their company.

 _“I'll see you soon,”_ he says, _“Miss you.”_

“Miss you too,” he answers, and they end the call shortly after.

He looks up once he's set his phone down, and rolls his eyes at the completely unsubtle way Leigh, Liam, Rochelle, and just about every other employee in the room are grinning and cocking their eyebrows at him.

“Mum,” he says, going back to his emails, and she laughs once, before yelling about everyone going back to work.

.

They have that event a week or so later, and as much as Niall had tried to help him, as much as he's rehearsed it in his room with Niall supplying him with the words and guiding him through the sentences whilst on the couch or mattress, Harry can't seem to shake his anxiety, his nervousness.

When it's just Niall, he's fine, he can get through it without much trouble. Feels better about it all when he's given a kiss on his cheek or wherever after he runs through it, each time.

With other people in the room, though. In a gigantic, filled to the brim room, though.

“Harry,” Niall tries to snap him out of his self-induced spiral. They're a sat in the head table, Rochelle and Marv and Bressie and Sister Loisa even, flew in from Ireland just for this bleeding dinner, and it marks him all the more nervous. “Harry. Your Highness.”

It catches his attention sufficiently, and he glances at Niall with a wounded, betrayed look on his face. A smile is all that is given to him in return.

“I don't want to fuck this up,” he murmurs, doesn't want to touch his plate of starters. “If I'd known this was how it feels, I never would have fucking started being more active in this family.”

“Ay, you don't mean that,” Niall tells him, looking stern.

“No, no, of course I don't,” he says, shaking his head and regretting he'd ever mentioned it. “I'm sorry. I'm just really nervous. First time I’m doing anything like this, I just want to prove to them all that I'm not completely hopeless.”

“You're definitely not,” Niall tries to convey his comfort in the best way he can without any physical contact, and Harry, in the moment, has never felt more hatred towards the stupid unspoken rule that he can't hold his boyfriend’s hand when he's nervous. No one in the room aside from The Playground’s core team and Bressie and Sister Loisa and Harry's security even know that he's not single. “You can do this. I know you can.”

“If I end up like my great grand dad,” he mutters.

“One of the greatest monarchs in recent memory,” Niall says,

“Everyone loved George VI.”

“Not when he'd given his first speech,” Harry says, can't stop fidgeting. “Had to hire a speech therapist for his stutter afterwards. I mean, I'm not even half as good a person he was, what am I going to do-”

“Harry,” Niall stops him firmly. Carefully, discreetly, places his hand on his thigh. Grips him tight, and says, “I believe in you, alright? Just focus on me, if you lose your way. Okay?”

“I - okay, okay,” he says at the look Niall gives him, and he tries to get his nerves in check, but.

Of course he messes it up. Fumbles through some words, misses actual sentences and key points, and he can't quite deliver his jokes as well as he'd hoped. He'd never been good with them, in the first place, but. Every excruciating second turned into minutes and it went on for far too long, and he tries to keep his focus on Niall, and Niall doesn't stop trying to encourage him, but when he hears the snickers and murmurs,  as quiet as they may be, it just seems easier to latch onto those, instead.

He finishes the speech, doesn't know how or why. He just does, and he smiles shakily as he thanks them for their time and leaves. Gets down from the stage and the podium and gets out, out of the hall and he absolutely cannot be there. He shakes his head at Paul and the other security as he gets into a lift, and he tries to compose himself in there, but the confined space wasn't a smart idea.

He gets down to the ground floor, swerves away from curious glances and ignores them completely, and when he gets to the lobby is when he absolutely cannot take it anymore.

There are a few people there, but no one really pays attention to him. He thinks, at least, but it doesn't matter much. He sits down on one of the couches in the lounge next to reception, and it's a posh, exclusive kind of place. He's been in this hotel before, remembers having been made to go to one of those welcoming dinners for foreign dignitaries, when he was much smaller. He was only slightly more behaved then, sticking it out until the end only because his mother was staring him down, every time that he made a move to leave.

As far as he knows, this place is expensive. Far more than this organization can really spare, and it makes him feel all the more awful. To know that they've spent so much, and invested their time and effort on him, only for him to not deliver as well as he'd promised.

“Harry?”

He looks up, and he cannot help but tear up slightly when he sees Niall’s followed him down, and he buries his face in his hands, crouching and leaning his elbows on his knees, feeling pathetic.

He can hear, feel Niall get down on his knees in front of him, close but just far enough to give him space to breathe, his hands warm and grounding on his thighs. He's just there, waiting for him, not moving.

So he cries. Muffles his sobs and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, gets his cheeks wet with tears anyway. Niall stays with him patiently, lets him let it out, waits for the inevitable word vomit that Harry's sure he's about to spew. Niall doesn't leave, stays and stays.

“Cocked it up,” he says, endlessly frustrated with himself. “Fuck. Couldn't even last one day on the new job.”

Niall still doesn't speak, but he does rub his thigh in comfort, back and forth in slow motions. He sniffs, wiping furiously at his face, continues to say, “just. I was never illusioned or anything, never thought that it would be easy, knew I had to work. But. I don't know. I couldn't even give one bloody speech.”

“Oh, Harry,” he murmurs then, lifts his head to lean his forehead against his. Breathes in with him, and he calms him down, slow but sure. “Harry.”

“Maybe it was so lucky I was born to the second son,” he says. “That way, there would have been an almost guaranteed way that I would never get the throne, so far down the line I don't even know if I'm seventh or eighth for the crown. I wasn't made to be a monarch. I'd be a horrible king. Can't even handle the simplest shit.”

“You're not being fair to yourself,” Niall tells him quietly. “You've acted remarkably, since I've met you. It's just a speech.”

“It's how I present myself, Ni,” he says, and he doesn't like how defeated he sounds. “This family, it's all about presentation and how you're perceived by the public, as much as we don't want to admit it. If I can't make a simple speech without fucking it up, then. Christ.”

A new wave of tears makes him hide his face in his hands again, but Niall doesn't move away. Just presses a soft kiss on his hairline, keeping his lips there.

“I feel really bad for my great grandfather now,” he mutters, and the soft chuckle Niall lets out comforts him some. Not much, but just the sound of it right now, it makes him feel lighter.

“Albert, was it?” he says, and Harry nods in confirmation. “Had a stutter, but he got better at it.”

“He's stronger than I am.”

“Now that is horse shit,” Niall says, and he pulls back slightly. Makes Harry look at him, and his eyes are so fiercely blue, says, “I refuse to let you think yourself as weak when you're not. You of all people should know he was reluctant to take the throne after his brother. I think he might've thought that he'd never have to take the throne, but shit happens. So he had to take it.”

“Niall, he was another level of man,” Harry says. “Fought in the Navy, restored faith in the monarchy. Led us through wars.”

“And who says you can't do all that?” Niall asks him, and Harry's chest gets tight, with how much Niall just seems to believe in him. It's much more than he deserves. “He was shit his first few speeches. Got better, didn't he? Made a whole movie all about it. Colin Firth cussed, it was great.”

Harry cannot help but smile, and it comes out watery, but Niall just smiles back. He closes his eyes when a soft kiss is pressed to his dimple, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose.

“Regardless of whether or not you can deliver a bloody speech,” he goes on to say, “you've been amazing. You're helping so many people, and I know you'll just get even better. I don't like it when you put yourself down, love.”

“Just easier to accept than the good stuff,” he shrugs, tries to come off indifferent, but Niall doesn't take it, sees it in the way his eyebrows furrow and his mouth sets in a thin line.

“You're better suited to being a prince than you know,” Niall says, and Harry adores him. Cannot get his mind around how much and how far they've come from Niall insulting his phone that first time, though he still does that frequently.

“I love you,” Niall tells him simply, and Harry loses his breath. He looks at him with wide, questioning eyes, and Niall looks at him the same way he always has. As if he's never known not to look at him this way, like he really mattered.

“Niall,” he breathes, feels even more stupid for the way he starts crying again, though it's softer, with a different emotion.

Niall just smiles at him again, gently, and he wipes the tears as they fall, patient and kind and just everything.

.

“Oi,” Louis barges into his room, flopping down on his bed. Harry hums in greeting, sat by the desk as he tries to read over the studies the team in Mullingar had sent him. “Oi, cuz” he yells again, throwing a pillow at his head, and Harry flails as he tries to catch it, ends up toppling to the ground. “Idiot.”

“What do you want, Lou? I'm working,” Harry mutters, throwing back the pillow.

“The other Harry’s throwing some bash, going away party before he leaves for his South African tour,” Louis tells him, typing on his  phone lightning fast as he speaks. “Down in some new club. Want to come with?”

“I'm working, Lou,” he repeats firmly, scowling at him as he gets back on the chair.

“Like that will take you long,” he scoffs at him, but Harry ignored him, turning his attention back to the reports. “Come on, you actually have a reason to go party now! Not just another night out, mate. It'll be great.”

“Don't want to,” he says, and Louis makes a strange squawking noise, affronted and shocked.

“Holy shit, Niall’s a miracle worker, he really is,” he says, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Tamed the party animal, he has. The Iman to your Bowie-”

“Louis, shut it.”

“Here, why don't you just bring him along?” he suggests, “I've never seen him out down a pint, what I've heard from Basil he can out drink the two of us, plus the other Harry, easy. Need to see that for myself.”

“I can't, you know that Lou,” he says. “My dad would go ballistic. If they see us together, I mean. His life is already hard enough as it is, dating me. What more if people actually knew about it, they'd be merciless to him.”

“So he's got no actual say if you two get to go out or not,” Louis asks, and Harry glares at him, but it's half-hearted, because he does have a point. “He's old enough to decide for himself, Harry. And if he has a problem with it, then. He really should have expected it, being with a royal is more work than it is play. Seems to like you well enough to be here, so.”

“I just. I don’t want to scare him away, or anything,” he says. “He’s been amazing with everything, and I just don’t things to be hard for him.”

“It’s already been hard on him, so you’ve got to decide.”

“Decide what?”

“What kind of hard you’re going to make it for him,” he says, then smirks when he realizes how that came out. Harry makes a face at him, then throws the pillow back. “Ahh, you wanker, what I meant was, you can choose whether you’re going to hide your relationship until your old man and this team can figure out how the fuck you’re going to come out and all that shit. I don’t know Niall all that well, but it’s possible that he might resent you for making him hide.”

Harry keeps quiet, but Louis isn’t finished. “Or, other option. You do your dad’s job for him and just, you know. Do it. Be his boyfriend. Date him normally, go out and tell people you’re together when they ask. People will give the both of you hell, Niall will always end up having people hound him, threatening him or stalking him, whatever. He’ll have to live by the rules they set up for him.”

“Either way, I’ll lose,” Harry says, mostly to himself, and he sighs. Thinks over each scenario carefully, and they both make him want to tear his eyes out.

“Well, you’ll just have to choose the way you want to win, then,” is the reply he gets.

.

They’re a little more than five months in, and Niall is doing okay. He's sure of Harry, how he feels about him, how happy he is when he's with him.

Being with him, as a boyfriend though. It's quite a different story.

Niall understands that it's hard enough as it is, dating someone with Harry's stature, notoriety, public image. He understood that it would be difficult, that a lot of the time, he can't go with Harry to certain events or even go out for a meal or a movie or whatever. When they do, though, they have to act a certain way. He'd never want to get Harry in trouble for anything, but sometimes, he just wants to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, say something in his ear away from eavesdroppers, and not get reprimanded for it. .

When they manage to go out together, he's never really himself, never really just the Niall he wants to be. Instead, he's Harry's friend, someone who had worked with Des, a former supervisor that he had gotten friendly with, that type of shit. And he understands, really does, that that's the way it has to be, that's the way Harry has to introduce him to people lest they want chaos. It's just, after maybe the eleventh time that it's happened, the fact that he's just met David Beckham is marred by the fact that Harry had called him a _“former co-worker.”_

He understands, when Harry's interviewed sometimes when he's at these galas or fashion shows that Niall will catch a glimpse of when Leigh’s waiting for the Valentino or Marchesa runway shows, and they ask him about his personal life. He really gets it, when Harry will just give them a small smile and say, _“if it's okay, I’d like to keep that private,”_ or “ _not with anyone you'd know.”_

Niall understands, really. Doesn't change the fact that he's very much in love with Harry, doesn't change the fact that the time they do have together is incredible. It doesn't change the fact that after awhile, though, it doesn't feel like that it's enough anymore.

So, he's quite okay, really. But it's like he's waiting for the moment when it won't be.

.

“Harry,” he calls out as he closes the door to the suite behind him. “Harry, your mum’s resorted to texting _me_ now, you're running that late. We need to go.”

“I'm in the shower!” Harry yells back from the bathroom, so Niall sighs, goes to the bedroom proper and looks around a bit. The suit that's been laid out on the bed is ridiculous, red with huge flowers all over, and it's exactly what he'd expect from him, even down to the heeled, buckled boots. He sighs again, resigned to the fact that he's going back to have to be seen with walking vintage wallpaper tonight, and he adjusts the glasses on his face. New frames, still black, but just slightly thinner, more refined.

“Sorry, I got in a bit late, flight in from Ireland was delayed a little,” Harry's saying as he comes out from the shower, all wet with water droplets still running down his chest, down his stomach, and a towel wrapped around his hips. He's drying his hair furiously with another towel, then he looks up. Freezes in his steps when he sets his eyes on Niall.

“What the fuck is that?” he's asking, but he doesn't sound appalled or disgusted or questioning or. He sounds, for lack of better term, breathless.

“A suit,” he answers dryly, and Harry still doesn't move, doesn't stop staring at him. “Love, we need to get going-”

“Are those spikes on it?” he's asking quietly, coming closer to touch one of the small, shining black spikes on his jacket. They adorn the shoulders fully, some clusters on the front, before tapering away to reveal a shimmering black fabric beneath. It's entirely unexpected, and he feels like he's wearing a wetsuit, with how fitted it is, but the invite Gemma had sent said _‘non-conventional’_ , so.

“Well, yes - it's Zayn’s, some modeling job he'd done a few years back let him keep the clothes,” Niall tells him, shrugging, because it's not a big deal, but Harry can't stop looking at him. “Is it weird?”

“I don't think I can tell you just how much I want you to fuck me in this,” he replies, voice completely serious, and his eyes are almost completely black. Niall chokes on his breath, and Harry's coming even closer, until their bodies are flush and his wet chest is making his shirt slightly damp.he bored into his eyes, doesn't break their eye contact as he plays with his hair a bit. “I like your hair like this. Up, but not like, straight up. Off to the side, like those old movie stars.”

“Leigh,” he says as an answer, and he gulps when Harry's hand grips the side of his neck. He's really quite warm.

“And you cut it,” he says softly, “letting it grow out dark?”

“Got tired of bleaching it,” he says, shrugging slightly. “Harry, get dressed-”

He doesn't get a chance to finish, because Harry kisses him hard, parting his lips with his tongue and getting in there, just does it and pulling him close. Niall makes a noise in the back of his throat, instinctively attacks his mouth in turn, licking into Harry's mouth, but they don't have the time to do this.

“Harry,” he hisses against his lips, “We really need to leave-”

“It's not fair, for you to look this good and you don't even know it,” Harry breathes against him, making no move to indicate he's not instead of to have sex, right at that moment. “God, Niall, I really need you in me, right now.”

“You're too fucking insatiable,” Niall mutters, trying to get Harry to get a move on with his life, but he won't budge. “Harry.”

“Niall,” he answers, his lips finding Niall's again. “Please,” he mumbles can and his hands are everywhere, under his jacket, palming his ass over his pants, the heel of his palm finding its way to his crotch, digging in and Niall's only so strong.

“Hmmm,” he hums into his mouth, and Harry's moving them to the bed, landing on his back and immediately grabbing his face to snog him again. Niall crawls over his body, and Harry brackets him in, setting his feet flat on the mattress to trap Niall in between his thighs.

“We are _so_ late, you twat,” Niall mutters against his mouth, goes to remove his spiky jacket, but Harry shakes his head wildly, eyes dark and wide and hungry.

“Fuck me in it,” he says, and Niall groans, thrusting down on Harry involuntarily, and he can feel his dick pulse in his pants.

“Zayn cannot know about this,” he says, only slightly alarmed that he had agreed so readily.

“Just don't give it back, I'll get him a new suit,” Harry half-yells, frustratedly aroused and waiting, and Niall tears the towel from his hips and takes him into his mouth. He shouts in surprise, writhing on the sheets as much as Niall tries to pin his body down to the mattress.

He bobs his head, up and down and sucking Harry as best as he can, and he can't imagine how the view must be for him. He's still wearing his pretentious suit, still got his glasses perched on his nose and he looks like he's fighting to not get his hands in his hair. Niall smirks around the cock in his mouth, and blows him until he's hard, so hard that when he pops off, his length immediately just jumps to his stomach.

He bites at his love handle, sucking a mark into his skin and Harry's moaning and whimpering above him, so far gone.

“Get me open,” Harry throws the lube and condom in his general direction, and Niall rolls his eyes at him, but gets his fingers slick anyway. He grunts at the finger tracing his arsehole, sobs at the first press in. Doesn't stop making noise, goes on being a beautiful mess as Niall gets him ready for his cock.

He's on the third finger in when he manages to brush against Harry's prostate, and it makes him emit a devastating moan, his body jolting and the tip of his cock releases a small bit of pre-cum. Niall is biting his lip hard enough to bleed, extremely tempted to add to the noise. Harry's loud as it was, but right at the moment, Niall's never heard him like this, and it's making his own cock jump in its confines.

“Turn over,” he's muttering, finally having had enough and knowing Harry's open enough for him. Harry complies readily, breathing heavily as he lays on his stomach, burying his face in the pillows.

Niall lifts him up to his knees, raising his arse, and Harry looks back at him, and the look in his eyes is enough to get him popping the button open on his pants. Pulls it down just enough to get his hard cock out, and he rolls the condom down quickly and lubes himself up.

“Fuck me,” Harry says, and it's much too reminiscent of a porno, so Niall snorts a bit, but places the tip of his prick against where he's open and eager before Harry can give him any grief.

He whimpers when Niall pushes in, slowly, until he's right up against him, his belt and pants rubbing up against his bare skin. Niall pulls out after a few moments, then drives back into his arse roughly. Does it over and over, his pace rough and fast and it's an amazingly, frantically good fuck.

Harry rises on his elbows, tries to push back and fuck himself on Niall's cock for a bit, but after a particularly well aimed thrust, he choked out a loud, loud groan and falls back down, and lets Niall have his way. He pulls his arse up higher, grips at his hips, loving the way his flesh gives into his hold, and he pounds in, whimpering quietly at the perfect way Harry's arse just opens up for him.

“God, _god,_ so good,” Harry's muttering, moaning and moaning over and over and making Niall blush, despite himself. Takes Harry's arse cheeks in his hands and squeezes, making him whine into the pillows. “Fuck, you're so hot. Fuck, fuck me.  Harder, want to feel it later.”

“You're going to kill me,” Niall huffs, his body heating up and he feels himself sweat and warm up in his clothes. “Fuck, take it-”

He goes hard, fucking in and out and back in again in a lightning quick pace. Spreads his cheeks and watches as he opens up for him, and it's so filthy. Harry's so naked, and his backside and the back of his thighs are getting faint marks from the fabric of his clothes rustling against his skin, and Niall chokes at the sight. Makes him go even harder.

He's never quite had sex like this before. Almost completely rough and hard and frenzied. The kind of sex where his entire self is being put to work, where he can feel everything to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes. Feels desperate and frantic and it leaves him feeling raw, powerful and vulnerable, all at the same time.

He's closer than he realizes, losing his beat as he just thrusts into Harry in a half-assed pace, feels like it will get him home quickest. Harry's worse off, whining and whimpering as he drops down completely, making him slip out of his arse.

Niall doesn't think twice. He arranges Harry in a position that won't be so uncomfortable for him, getting a hum in thanks, and rams back in, and they're both moaning loudly at the sensation. He molds himself to his back, and fucks in with little finesse or technique, just hard and fast. Harry lets out a steady stream of noise, coming from the back of his throat, as he's fucked, his body shoved up the bed from every other thrust.

Harry cliches his arse around him deliciously, and he's gone. Comes with a groan, spills into the condom and pushing in with shorter, less controlled thrusts into his hole as he wrings out his orgasm. He sees that Harry's trembling beneath him slightly, and he knows he's not come yet. Bites his bottom lip as he tries to reel himself in, and fucks in again, despite his sensitivity.

Harry shivers, writhing at the slow, but still rough shoves into his body. Niall goes harder, harder, until.

 _“Oh, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Niall,”_ he sobs, rolling and pushing his hips into the mattress below him, and the friction and the way Niall's fucking him gets him to come, and Niall helps him get the last of it out. Snakes a hand beneath him and tugs him off, eyes glazing over at the thought of Harry's cum on his hands. The sheets below him are ruined, more than a little wet and he comes for so long. Just moans the whole way through and spills into his hand for ages.

Niall makes him turn his head, latches on to his lips immediately, kisses him fiercely and hard and has never experienced anything like that, not ever in this lifetime.

“God, fuck,” Harry hisses as Niall pulls out. He watches his hole wink a little at the emptiness, makes him groan. Too soon to get hard again, and they've got absolutely no time for more at the moment.

“Does it hurt?” he asks him quietly, suddenly fearing he'd been too rough or.

“Going to feel that for days,” Harry replies, the grin on his face filthy and amazing as he reaches a hand to graze his arse, then a finger prods a little at his entrance. Niall growls at the sight, fighting every want and need and instinct telling him to get back in. “I feel incredible.”

“Fuck, _fuck,_ we’re so late, we’re so fucked,” Niall's muttering then, after he's made sure Harry really was fine. “You seduced me, you twat-”

“And it was completely worth it,” he replies can lethargic smile on his face as he twists his torso, pulls Niall in by the lapel to kiss him senseless.

Understandably, they lose track of time, much more than they already had. They arrive horrendously late, and everyone makes sure that they know exactly why they've been so delayed. Louis was particularly awful.

Niall, to his great surprise, finds himself feeling only slightly guilty. Feels even less so when Harry manages to hold on to his hand for most of the later hours of the night.

.

That night ended up being a rarity. One where they're both relaxed and the tiniest bit more open with being a couple, because it was an incredibly private dinner for Gemma’s going away party. Only the people who really mattered were there, so it had allowed them to breathe a bit more freely. But that wasn't the case, more often than not.

They've been to a few more dinners together, and Harry'd been to many, many more, alone, didn't want to risk the chance of slipping and letting everyone know that he and Niall weren't just friends. And when they did manage to go to something together, there'd be a wall between them. Friends, co-workers, business partners, everything's platonic. Never lovers, in their public lives, and it's exhausting. It's infuriating. Because he wants to be with him, wants to call him his boyfriend and go on normal dates and maybe be affectionate with him in public, but it's not as simple as he'd want it to be.

It gets harder and harder to be with Niall the way he wants to. There's nothing he'd change about him, he adores him. Loves him, though he's never quite said the phrase out loud. It's just. Much more work than he'd initially thought, being in a relationship with an incredible person, who'd happened to be a man.

He hates hiding, sneaking around and being confined to their private time together. He thinks constantly about what Louis had told him, and it's become incredibly difficult to decide on what to do.

He feels that he's losing, at the moment. Knows that it'll only take so much time before Niall will give him an ultimatum, his patience and kindness will only stretch so far. He hopes he'll have an answer by then.

.

Things come to a head, when finally, his patience has run thin enough. Feels like he's snapped and Harry's bitten off much more than he could chew, just hoping that he could string him along and have him for the ride, but Niall's tired about having no idea where they're going.

It happens at a party, because of course it does. Des has a small birthday celebrating in Old Windsor, invites family, friends, and children of friends and extended way beyond what Niall can understand.

He was invited, he's not sure if it because he used to work for him, technically, or if it's because he's trying to extend an olive branch of some sort to Harry, seeing as he's dating his son, but Niall chooses not to think too much about it. He's here, he's drinking vintage champagne, though it's not really what he'd chose, had he been given a choice, decked out in one of Zayn’s fancy ass suits and. He can't stay all that close to Harry tonight, is here as a guest of His Royal Highness Prince Desmond and there are too many people around, too many people who don't know about them. So they've kept their distance from each other the whole night thus far. He mingles, speaking with Paul and Basil and Louis and meeting several posh people, and he sees Harry's done the same, somewhat.

Harry's given him no reason to be jealous, thus far in this relationship. He's not the jealous type in the first place, he knows Harry's got plenty of friends, plenty of attractive friends, plenty of friends who happen to be models. It's a fact he's aware of, that he's shagged many of those friends, some more than once. But Niall trusts him, despite every warning bell and actual warning from Louis, from Gemma, from everyone. They'd told him to be careful, they’d told him that Harry seemed to be really trying, with him, but old habits die hard, they'd told him many things. But Niall knew all of that already, in any case. He trusts him, and that's not the problem he's having, anyway.

It's the fact that Harry can't tell the truth to everyone who's trying to come on to him, is his problem. He sees that Harry's trying to turn them all down politely, and the thought that he can't just walk over to him and hold his hand, let them all know that he's very much taken, it's that that's getting to him. It's affecting him much more than he thought it would, but after six months, he's afraid he's seen the last of his patience.

He spots Harry talking to this one girl. She's gorgeous, jet black hair, thin, but otherwise unremarkable because as pretty as she was, she doesn't stand out, and Niall is she's not from around here, what with her neutral-ish American accent. He sighs, berating himself slightly because this girl doesn’t know any better; not her fault that Harry’s just so fucking ‘friendly’, term very loosely used.

He makes his way over to where they are near the glass doors of the conservatory, and stops, standing just close enough that they can't see him, but he can hear what they say.

“-and so G and I ended up the saying thing, it was so funny,” she says, laughing at the end of it, and Niall doubts it was very funny at all. Harry smiles at her, nonetheless, though it looks strained and tight.

“That's nice,” he says, ever the diplomat, and she smiles. Niall pantomimes throwing up, though no one’s there to appreciate the joke. “Listen, I need to go-”

“Oh, come on, just stay here for now,” she says, “I mean, it’s not like you need to be anywhere else, specifically. Right?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then, just stay here with me for a bit,” she tells him, smiling. “For old time’s sake?”

Niall actually feels like throwing up a little, for real.

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, comes out as more of a huff, then replies, “I don’t quite know what to say to that.”

“Just say yes, then.”

Harry laughs again, sounding slightly more frustrated, “I don’t think you really understand, I need to go find someone.”

“Oh?” she says curiously, her body straightening slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

“Well.”

“So, you’ve actually been tamed,” she says, and her smile isn’t mean. “That’s good. And here I was, trying to hit on you. Shit’s embarrassing.”

 _What the actual fuck_ , Niall snorts into his champagne flute, but he tries to shrug her words off. Hopes Harry knows better and won’t fall for it.

“It's. It's new, kind of,” he says, shrugging a bit nonchalantly, and it's starting to get to Niall. Makes his blood hot for the worst reasons. “I'm just. It's new for me. It's good.”

“Well, she's lucky,” she says, and Niall's had about enough. He hands his empty glass to one of the waiters passing by, and goes over to where they're stood.

“Hi,” he greets, smile ready on his face and he looks at her, coming to stand next to Harry.

“Oh, hi,” she replies, looking very confused. “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met.”

“No, you haven't,” Harry says, and he turns slightly to glare at Niall.

He ignores the look he's given, and holds out his hand for her to shake. “I'm Niall. I'm a friend of Harry's.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and to her credit, she doesn't sound like she's lying. She doesn't offer her name just yet, however, and she asks him, “I'm sorry, I just. I've never seen you before. I've been to almost every party here, my mom’s worked with Prince Desmond, before.”

“Well, so have I,” he answers, but before he can continue, Harry's speaking for him.

“Yeah, he worked with my dad,” he tells her. “He assigned Niall to be my supervisor while I was in Mullingar, that's in Ireland.”

“Supervisor?” she asks, looking curiously between the two of them. Niall is seething inside, but he forces himself to remain smiling. “So, he was your boss?”

“Kind of like a warden, if anything,” Harry says, and Niall swears, had he still been holding his glass, it would have cracked in his grip, with how angry he is.

“Must be a great change, to go from being his warden to his friend. Kind of like a social promotion, isn't it, Niall?” she asks him, and Niall does his utmost best to not yell at her.

“Sure, that's a way to put it,” he says sweetly, and her eyes widen at his reply, and satisfyingly, she goes quiet.

.

“What the fuck was that,” Harry mutters as they walk into his suite at the Palace, and Niall watches him undo his tie clumsily, like his fingers are too angry to do it properly.

The rest of the party had been excruciating; he and Harry had silently decided mutually to not hang around each other the rest of the night, lest Niall interrupt more conversations or Harry just blow up at him. He does his best to not look over at wherever Harry is, comforted only by the fact that Harry doesn't seem to be chatting up any girls or guys in spite.

They leave not long after the dinner proper, and the car ride back unbearably silent. They sit apart, opposite ends of the car, much like the first one he's been forced to ride with him. They look out their respective windows the entire time, and Niall knows it's serious, because Harry doesn't bring his phone out even once to distract himself.

“Wanted to introduce myself to your friend,” he answers, and he knows he shouldn't be joking, it looks like Harry is genuinely upset. But he's upset too.

“Niall, what were you thinking? Honestly,” he says, voice impatient and slightly hurt. “You know we can't just be public.”

“I know that.”

“Really? Then why'd you go up to us while we were talking,” he says, looking round at Niall. He doesn't' think Harry's ever looked at him so coldly before, even when they had hated each other. “You never did that, before. Never interrupted or barged in.”

“Oh, so you expect me to just hang around and wait for you to let me know it's okay to talk to people?” he half yells, infuriated and angry beyond relief. “Harry, I'm your boyfriend, not someone you can just include in your life when you want me to be there!”

“You know how hard it is for us, Niall. I thought you understood that,” Harry says, sounding so genuinely wounded.

“I do, Harry. Why do you think I'm still here? Being in this relationship is so bloody difficult, with all the lying and secrecy and shit. I would have up and left a long time ago if it weren't for how much I love you,” he says, and he's trying not to let his heart choke his throat. “God. Harry, I fought through all that because I knew it would be hard, but I wanted to be with you anyway. But I can only go so far.”

“We were just talking,” Harry says quietly.

“She was planning to fuck you, Harry. Don't tell me you're so blind that you couldn't see that,” he tells him.

“I would never have done it, Niall,” he says, sounding choked and maybe. A little afraid. “I wouldn't have - Niall, I love you. Only you.”

He closes his eyes at the words, and he can't let them get to him now. It's the first time Harry's ever said that to him. Feels like his chest is being crushed, doesn't know if it's a bad or good feeling. He can't decide.

“I know you do, but Harry, I'm trying. I promise you, I'm trying to do this for you, for us,” he says, and his anger is slowly being replaced by sadness. “But. ‘Warden’? ‘Supervisor’? I don't know. I was prepared to have this be difficult, but I was never expecting it to be impossible, the way you're making it.”

“They’ll never leave you alone, if they knew,” he says. “They'll give you hell.”

“At least they'd know, wouldn't they?” he says, tries not to sound so bitter about it. “At least I could really be a part of this relationship.”

“Niall, I'm doing this for us.”

“No, you're not,” Niall says, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Doesn't want to cry, will not let the sting of his tears get the best of him. “Harry, I know that you know that I love you. I know you love me. But it's really not enough.”

“Niall-”

“Why can't I have a say?” he says, “Why can't I decide for myself? What if, what if I just wanted to be seen with you, in public? What if I just wanted to let people know we're together?”

“It will be hard for both of us.”

“But I'd get to be with you, really,” he says, voice choked and strangled. “We cannot build a relationship within the walls of your room only, Harry. I've made so many sacrifices for you, and I know you've made just as many, if not more, sacrifices for me. I understand that it's hard because you're a prince and shit, but. Don't you want to just, be with me?”

“They don't have any right to know our business,” he says, but it's not enough of a reply. Doesn't answer anything.

“Then they won't. Them being aware of this doesn't mean they have to know everything about us. I know how this family works, not completely, but enough to know that it is possible,” Niall tells him. “Harry, I know it's hard, but you cannot convince me to think that whatever we’re doing now, this is enough for you.”

Harry stares at him, and his eyes are shining with the promise of tears, and he doesn't speak, which makes Niall think there's something else.

“Is it. Do you not want to be out?” he asks quietly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I don't care about that, if people know I'm in love with a man,” Harry tells him. “It's just, I don't know how we’ll move forward, from there.”

“I'd help you figure it out,” he says, but the look on Harry's face is doubtful. Sad and unsure. “Harry, do you even want to be with me?”

“Niall, of course I do,” he whimpers, comes closer, but he steps back, backing away from his advances. “Niall, please-”

“You know the one thing I really hated about all of this?” he begins to say, and it takes everything in him to not cry when he sees that Harry's let his own tears fall. “I hated when someone just made it so stupidly obvious that they thought that I was below them. I didn't like the way they thought of me, because they thought they were better than me when they really fucking aren't. I'm not scared of it or anything, I don't care what they say. But it does get to me, after awhile. That whatever the nature of the ‘social promotion’ that had happened between us, they thought that I wasn't good enough, when I knew I wasn't.”

“You're not,” Harry tries to agree with him, but he's not finished.

“I know I'm not, but I had a feeling, when we'd first started this. That they'd think this way, and honestly, I was expecting it, as much as I hated the thought. I mean, I'm a commoner from a poor country with nothing to his name except a shitty flat here and a shitty house in a small town. No parents, with an amazing job but really shitty pay. I don't think that warrants any sort of indication that I'm less than them. I've just lived a harder life, but it doesn't mean that theirs is any better.”

“You're amazing,” Harry says, tries to appease him. “You're the best person I know.”

“Really?” he says, scoffing a little, not believing his shit. “Because sometimes, with the way you've jerked me around, calling me a fucking ‘warden,’ it makes me think that sometimes, you've thought that way about me too.”

“No, Niall, no,” he's saying immediately, crying full on and embracing him, trying to pull him close and his tears are falling on his neck. “No, no, _no._ Never. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry.”

“Maybe,” he starts to say, swallows down the heart in his throat, “maybe we moved too fast, maybe this wasn't-”

 _“No,”_ Harry's saying, hugging him tighter and his tone desperate and it's breaking his heart, that he's doing this to him, but. “Niall, please.”

“I think that we expected too much, from each other,” he says quietly. He's afraid if he speaks any louder, he will end up crying. “You expected me to be patient forever, and as willing as I am to wait for you, this shouldn't have gone this far. And, I think. I expected you to be more willing to be more open about this. That's on me, it's not like I was expecting you to drop your family’s protocol and rules, but maybe. I was hoping you'd fight for this more.”

“Niall, I am, I am willing,” Harry tries, and it comes off breathy and rushed and pained. “You don't - Niall. I cannot tell you how much you mean to mean to me. I've only ever felt like this with you, I've only ever tried with you. You put me in my place and make me feel like I actually belong somewhere, even within this family. Please, don't-”

“I think, maybe, we need to be more realistic,” he says, and his chest is about to split open. He finally cries, but he keeps it quiet, cannot let himself add to Harry's whimpering and sobbing. “Our worlds, they're just too different. I'm sorry, love.”

“No, please, I love you, please,” Harry's begging him, and Niall cannot. Shuts his eyes as he holds Harry back, shushes him as he cries, guiding them over to his bed. He makes him sit, and he kneels in front of him, takes his face in his hands and swipes his thumbs over Harry's cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, places a kiss on his forehead. “I'm sorry, I love you. But we can't kid ourselves.”

“Niall, please.”

He doesn't say much else, can't, in any case. He just kisses him softly, the gentlest touch of his lips on Harry's, and he makes himself leave.

He walks straight out of the room, makes himself block out the sounds of Harry's crying and every urge telling him to go back and not leave him alone, but that was the problem in the first place. He lost a bit of himself, in this.

“Hey - Niall? Niall what's wrong?” Louis walks into him as he he makes his way to the halls.

He shake his head, knowing he's got tears and snot and he's a mess, but he'll be fine. “Stay with Harry, okay? Please, stay with him, I don't. Stay with him-”

“Okay, okay, “ he replies, tries to hold his arms but Niall shakes him off. Walks away and leaves before he breaks.

.

“Chief,” Bressie’s greeting him as he gets out to the garden. Breakfast’s just ended, and he'd accompanied Eilis to the back to check on her flowers. The roses have just bloomed.

“Brez,” he says in reply, offering him a small smile. Eilis plucks out a flower, cuts off the little thorns with small, experienced fingers, and gives it to him. He gives her another smile in thanks.

“Wasn't expecting you for another few months,” Bressie says, plopping down next to them in front of the flower patch.

“Moved my trip up, wanted to see everyone,” he says, doesn't reveal that he'd asked. Begged, Rochelle to send him in earlier. Didn't want to be in London for the next few weeks, while everything was still fresh.

Bressie doesn't say anything for a bit, watches her prep up a flower to give to him as well. Then he says, “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn't move up a trip solely for the fact that you wanted to see us,” he says, and he keeps his tone soft. “We know you love us, but that's not enough of a reason. Niall, what happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers, shaking his head.

Eilis looks round at him, once she's given Bressie his rose. Takes a good, long, thoughtful look at him, then asks him in every seriousness, “Harry?”

Niall looks at her, his eyes slightly wider than they were a moment before, and he wonders. How she's always been so observant. “Eilis.”

“You like him,” she says, a fact that he can't deny. “He likes you.”

“Maybe,” he starts, clearing his throat a little, “maybe not right now, love.”

“You or him?”  

“I don't think it's that easy.”

“So, you,” Bressie says, looking expectantly at him.

He feels his face collapse, and he blinks several times to stave off the stupid threat of tears. “It was a few days ago, after his dad's birthday party thing.”

“What happened?” he asks one last time, sounding so patient and Niall doesn't have much will to not tell him the truth.

“I just. I had to stop it. Before it got too complicated and before anyone got hurt,” he says, sniffing.

“You love him,” she says then, and he looks down at her. Her eyes are wide and bright and she knows she's right.

“I do,” he admits, and his breathing comes out staggered as he sighs.

“So it's your fault,” Bressie says, and Niall scowls at him, but he's just got this little smirk on his face, knowing he's right. “As laid back and chill as you are about most things in your life, you're severely meticulous with the others.”

Eilis looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he laughs, rubbing his thumb between them. “What I meant was, Niall overthinks sometimes. It's not bad, but it can cause problems when he overdoes it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Niall mutters, sniffing. “He's a bloody prince. I can't just go in without thinking and just. I don't know.”

“Well, that's part of it,” he says. “The person you fell for happened to be a prince, and I don't know what made you two split, but if you love him, really, then you shouldn't let whatever the problem is get in the way of you loving him. Unless, did he cheat on you?”

“No, no,” he sighs, and he can't help the few tears that do slip out. “It's just. We're too different. I'm too country and he's too pretentious and I don't know. I wanted to be open with him, you know hard that is for me. But I tried, for him, but we never got there. We always had to be a secret, be hidden from the world.”

“He made you hide your relationship?”

“I wouldn't say,” he tries to start, but he lets out a frustrated noise. Can't quite come up with the right wording. “I don't know. It's not like he wanted to, but they're all about appearances. It would be hard to just, you know, be together like a normal couple. I never wanted much, with him. I just wanted him, without having to hide.”

“Well, Niall, I don't know what to tell you,” he says. Eilis comes to cuddle him, and he feels himself cry a little bit. “He's not exactly normal, as far as his blood goes. I know that you know that, and you're going to have to give yourself, and him, time to figure things out. I doubt he's ever had the chance to be someone’s boyfriend, so you'll have to get that this is new to him. But he loves you. I know that.”

“You love him,” she repeats, and it sounds surer than before. She's still very right. “Harry's lucky. Because you love him.”

“I don't think that's the way it works, love,” he tells her, but she doesn't flinch.

“No. She's right,” Bressie says. “A heart like yours, it'd be a privilege, to have it love you. He's lucky, much more than he realizes.”

.

“He’ll be down to see you in a moment, Haz,” Lou says as she and Harry walk through the halls of the Lodge in Old Windsor. “He apologizes for the delay, his previous engagement was a bit late to their meeting.”

“Could have told me that himself,” he mutters. She glances at him, eyebrow cocked curiously, and he sighs. “Sorry. Just feeling a bit drained.”

“How are you, love?” she asks him, and he's not sure if it's because he's known her for so long, or that she's a mum herself, or that her hair is almost platinum white and she's so rocker herself, that just makes him immediately comfortable around her. Always been one of his dad’s more unconventional employees, but she's efficient and quite handy with a makeup tool, so.

“Not great,” he replies. “I've been trying to reach him, but I just can't seem to get anyone to tell me anything.”

“You missing him?”

“Like you wouldn't believe,” he says. Feels his chest tighten at the thought of him.

“I'm sorry, love,” she tells him with a bit of a frown on her face.

“I don't know. He was right about some of the stuff he'd said, but I wished he'd given me a chance to really explain myself.”

“In due time, Haz,” she says, and she leads them towards the office. Seems to be the only place he really gets to see while he's here.

“Okay, so when's he coming in?” he asks, opening the doors to the room himself and plopping down on one of the chair in front of the desk.

“Um, actually, he's requested that you meet him in the gardens,” she hangs back by the door, looking amused.

“Huh? Out there? Why?”

“I'm not too sure,” she answers with a small shrug.

He doesn't really know what's going on, but he goes out to the garden, spots his father by the rose bushes on the other side of the conservatory. He's alone, snipping at the bush with a small pair of shears.

“Dad,” he greets as he approaches, and he looks up, giving him a smile from where he's tending to the leaves.

“Harry, hi,” he stands, holds out his hand for him to shake. “How was the trip up here?”

“Fine,” he says, can't stop looking at him. “I didn't know you garden.”

“I don't do it often, but it relaxes me,” he says, looking back at the plants with a fond smile on his face.

“I know someone who does it,” he says, doesn't know why he's bringing it up, but. It seems appropriate. “She's four.”

“Eilis, yes?” his father supplies, pronouncing it completely wrong, but Harry's too shocked that he even knows, in the first place.

“It's, um. ‘Ay-lish,’” he corrects him, still dumbfounded.

“Oh, my apologies,” he says. Smiles when Harry still looks confused, answers the unsaid question, “I thought I'd told you before; Niall's evaluation was very comprehensive. Mentioned that you had struck a chord with one of the children in Mullingar.”

“Oh,” he exhales, and all he'd done was mention his name.

Des looks at him thoughtfully, then places the shears on one of the garden tables. Says, “Walk with me.”

Harry looks up, surprised again, but he's already walking, moving towards the stone pathway that winds all around the vast garden. Harry catches up to him clumsily, and they stroll, side by side. It's certainly the most time he's had with with his father, in what feels like too long.

“How are you?” Des asks after a few minutes of silent walking, and it sounds less mechanical than it usually does. Still not completely natural, but Harry understands. He's trying.

“Tired,” he says, sighing a bit.

“Tired from what?” he prods.

Harry shrugs, “Everything, I guess. I’m just tired. But mostly sad.”

He doesn't really know why he admitted that to him, but too late to take it back. His dad stays quiet for a minute, trying to make sense of what he's said, then, “Have you tried talking to him?”

“Tried, yes. Succeeded, another story,” he says. Sighs heavily as they cross the small bridge over the lagoon, over to the other side of the garden. “He won't reply to anything, my messages, my calls, even his friends have gone ghost on me. I just don't know where he is.”

“Mullingar,” Des says, straightforward. Harry stares at him, again in shock, and he just continues. “He's in Mullingar. Their team there reported to me, just in case I'd need him.”

“Oh. I see,” he says, and he's got no words.

“Well, I see my advice backfired, didn't it,” he says, and it's the most honest thing that Harry's probably ever heard him say. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no. It was on me,” he says. “I really should have trusted him to make his own decisions. Thought I was guarding him from the chaos, but turns out I was suffocating him.”

“Are you afraid of telling the world that you're with him?”

“No,” he answers honestly. “I mean. I am scared, of what comes after. Being followed, people hounding him and being mean to him and not leaving us alone. I can take it, but Niall's not used to it. I just want to make sure people aren't mean to him.”

“That will happen regardless,” Des says, “it's a reality of being involved with royalty.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just want to look out for him, even if he says he can handle himself,” he tells him. “But. I don't really care what people will say about us. I never have, really, never cared about what people thought of me. Except with him, you know. I never wanted to disappoint him, but when someone believes in you as much as he did in me, I don't know. It just makes you want to do better. So. I'm not afraid of being with him.”

“It will be hard,” his father states the obvious.

He chuckles a little, because he'd known that since the beginning. He'd been reminded, several times over, over the last six months with Niall. He'd experienced it first hand, how difficult it can be. It's not enough to deter him, at all.

“I've always taken the easy way out,” he says, as they're passing by the tall hedge of flowers. “I went to Paris when I didn't want to deal with my responsibilities here. Never committed to anyone, did my utmost to avoid you.”

Des hums at that, nodding slightly because it's very, very true. He continues, “Easy is hardly ever the better option. I'm ready to do the difficult thing. I want to. I know it will be more worth it.”

His father stays silent after he finishes, and they walk in the quiet for a good while. Harry's never really been good with silences, so it doesn't take him long to ask, “What? What is it?”

Des glances at him, then looks straight in front of him. Says, “Your mother was a commoner as well. You know this.”

“Yes,” he replies quietly. He thinks, asks, “Did you love her? Really?”

“I did,” he answers easily. Like he'd been waiting several opportunities to say it, but it's careful, like it's still just slightly difficult. “But I wasn't strong like her. She could handle the criticism and the comments and the initial disdain from the public that lasted for years after we'd gotten married. I couldn't.”

Harry looks at him, really looks, and sees how tired he is. He's probably looked like that for years, and he's never thought to even look properly.

“I gave in to what this family wanted for me, because I wasn't ready to do the difficult thing. Maybe. Maybe that's the one thing we’ll differ in. At least, the one thing that will matter.”

It's quiet again between them. Des doesn't have anything else to say, and Harry doesn't know how to react. It's probably the most fatherly he's been, for as long as he can remember. They end up just walking in the silence between them, making a turn about the entire garden.

It's not as uncomfortable as Harry would have thought. Still a long way to go, but.

.

Sister Loisa, Bressie, basically the entirety of St. Joseph’s, even Eilis, had forced him to leave Mullingar and go back to London.

Niall tries not to curse them all in his head, as it ruins any previous plans he'd had to not go to two of Louis’s sister’s birthdays. Event invite had called for formal, Prince-like clothing for the males, because they were turning eleven and had not yet grown out of the fact that they were royalty and wanted a princess party, of course, and Louis had invited him, practically threatened him into going in his invitation specifically. He'd been hoping that being in Ireland would excuse him, but he'll just have to find another way out of attending, now. Didn't want to see Harry, not yet.

“Niall, just go,” Liam's telling him, watching him from where he and Zayn are sat on his desk in his room. “You're going to have to see him at one point or another. Don't you want it to be sooner, rather than later?”

“Later is much preferred,” he says, ignoring them as best as he can where he's lying down flat on his back on his bed. “Much later.”

“Niall, you're being ridiculous,” Zayn tells him, his stare boring into his eyes. “You obviously don't not love him. He obviously wants to try again. Don't deny that you broke it off on impulse.”

“Fuck you, Z, we were both stupid,” he says, hiding his face behind his pillow. “And our problems, they're not as easy to fix because we're so different from one another.”

“Then that just means you'll have to try harder,” he says. “I know it's much, much easier said than done, but come on, Ni. Isn't this what you wanted? You wanted a relationship, you wanted someone to love. You found him.”

“He loves you too, Ni,” Liam adds, “Why don't you just talk to him?”

“Why the fuck would be try? He should hate me, I'm the one who broke it off, .”

“Well, he doesn't, fuck me, you know. But he really doesn't,” Louis just barges in, completely decked out in his scarlet royal uniform, hair up in a quiff. He looks over to where Liam and Zayn sit, a little taken aback, and he grins, waving manically.

“Lou, the fuck,” he half yells at him, throwing a pillow at him.

“Mate, you and Harry think so alike. Always throwing shit at me-”

“Why the fuck are you here?!”

“Oh, yeah. Paul,” he answers simply, beaming. “We both couldn't quite take it, seeing poor cuz all sad and puppy dog depressed, so. Here I am! Love what you've done here, you're so much neater than I am.”

“Louis, _why are you here,”_ he repeats the question, makes himself heard.

“I'm picking you up, duh,” he says, “come on, get dressed.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

_“No.”_

“And why the fuck not, you twat,” he whines, completely like him, but it's unbecoming, in his current state of dress.

“I. I can't,” he says, hates how defeated he sounds. “I can't just put myself out there, then just get turned down again. Can't handle another night of just being his friend or supervisor or warden.”

Louis stays quiet for a moment, before he says, “You selfish fuck.”

“I know-”

“Didn't let me finish,” he tuts, waving a gloved finger at him. “You're both selfish fucks, both for valid reasons. He won't let you out into the world because he's afraid you won't be able to handle the pressure of being his boyfriend. You don't like being hidden, understandably so. You're both selfish. So what, people are inherently selfish.”

“Lou-”

“Here's the thing, Horan,” he interrupts him again, “Harry has always been selfish, one way or another. You forced his ass to be generous and kind, within the span of two weeks, something we couldn't do in twenty-something years. You're the nicest, most giving shit on earth, if what Harry tells me is true, which I don't doubt. He made you let loose a little. Got you to trust and shit. Made for each other, the two of you are.”

“Louis, fuck’s sake.”

“Point being, you little shits should talk, because you're sure as fuck not going to leave this without a proper discussion. He loves you, you love him.”

“I broke his heart, he won't want to talk to me,” Niall says quietly, mostly to himself, and he hears a collective groan in the room.

“Motherfucker, the calls he's made to _my_ fucking phone don't say that,” Zayn says, glaring at him hard.

“That little shit loves you, fucking twat, stop finding excuses,” Louis says, “come on, let's go. You two as well, yeah?” he gestures to Liam and Zayn, who stare at him with twin shocked eyes.

“I am not going to Buckingham Palace dressed in my joggers,” he says, staring them all down.

“Why not? It'll be like a Princess Diaries moment,” Liam says, catching their attention. “Like, Mia comes in soaked to the bone and in a horrible jacket and, you know. It would be cool.”

“Fuck no, Payno,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. “I get where you're coming from, but. No.”

“Well, have you got something else, then?” Louis is asking him, and he shakes his head, before stopping.

Realizes that maybe, maybe he does.

.

Harry tries to pay attention to the scene in front of him, tries to stay in the present, but he can't quite stop trying to find a particular face in the crowds of people fathers front he twins’ birthday ball, all of them in costumes of the royal variety. He's got his own uniform on, as per their request, but it doesn't feel quite right on him. Doesn't feel the same as when he'd worn it in Ireland. He tries not to hope, tries not to expect too much, but.

“Ay, cuz,” Louis pulls a little at his bun, and he turns to look at him, frowns. “You're dancing with Daisy, alright? I'll take Phoebs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, takes Louis’s younger sister’s hand in his when she comes up to him. He gives her a small smile at her half shouted _“Hello! Do you like my dress?”_ “Going to be the best out there, yeah?”

“Highly doubtful, with those baby deer limbs of yours, but alright,” Louis says, picking the other twin up in his arms and spinning them a bit, making her squeal.

Harry smiles at them both, then turns his attention back to the guests on the other side of the half-closed door, and Louis takes notice.

“Looking for Niall, mate?”

“Is that your boyfriend?” Daisy asks, pulling at his hand.

“Um,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, but Phoebe pipes up, “Mum says you two are cute together!”

“Ahh, yes, Jo’s got this soft spot for Haz,” Louis waves it off, sets his sister down.

“I don't know, I'm not expecting him to come, but I don't think there's anything wrong with hoping, right?”

Louis considers him thoughtfully, says, “You're hoping your Michael will come? Maybe he'll sweep his Mia off his feet, make him pop his foot as they kiss in the back gardens-”

“You're useless,” Harry mutters, completely understanding the Princess Diaries reference, but won't let himself be pleased with it. Assumes his position and exits the doors as they're introduced and welcomed with warm applause, with Louis and Phoebe mirroring them on the other side.  

They dance to a love strongman ensemble, a waltz that he vaguely remembers, and he dances with Daisy. Only through vigorous prince lessons does he even know how to dance this way, careful and precise, but as much as he tries, he's still too clumsy. Daisy ends up leading, and she looks like she's having a great time doing it.

This goes on for maybe three minutes, maybe halfway through the first dance, before both couples converge in the middle of the floor, and he looks up when Louis pokes him discreetly at his side. He looks up, a little frustrated because he'd lost his count and now his footing’s all off, and Louis ignores his look of contempt completely.

“What?” he hisses.

Louis just nods his head in some general direction of the crowd, and Harry humors him, but not without a roll of his eyes. He glances over to where he'd directed, and feels himself choke a bit.

Niall stands out, in the best way, in his starkly black Tom Ford suit that Harry cannot help but love. He's devastatingly handsome, glasses on and hair almost completely brown and just swept off his head softly to the side. He stands off behind a few people, trying and utterly failing to stay hidden from whoever the fuck. Probably him, but.

He looks down at his cousin, and she just grins at him before nodding, and she leads herself in a twirl, Harry barely following after her as she twists and releases in the general direction of her older brother. Louis takes both is his sisters’ hands and continues the dance seamlessly, not without a not so subtle whisper-shout for him to _“Go get your boy!”_

Harry stands surprised for a fraction of a moment, but he gets a grip on himself. Clears his throat and straightens his uniform, and gathers all his nerves and decides, in the moment, that doing the difficult thing is really fucking scary.

He comes to a halt in front of the crowd where Niall desperately tries to avoid his gaze and hide his smile. He spots Liam and Zayn, dressed in princely garb, trying to prod him into moving, but he doesn't budge.

“I'm sorry, excuse me,” Harry says to the ladies in front in their princess ball gowns straight out of the Cinderella film set, and their expressions drop when they realize he hadn't gone all the way there for them. They move anyway, until Niall stands unguarded and still not looking at him resolutely, and Harry cannot stand being apart from him much longer.

He straightens up, standing rigidly and tall like they'd taught him so many years ago. He takes off his gloves, stuffs them in his pockets, because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it properly, and says, “If I may be so bold, sir, to ask that you have this dance with me.”

He offers his hand out to him, and tries not to flinch. Fights every urge to put his hand down when Niall doesn't accept it right away, when his eyes widen and he snaps his head up to look at Harry, his mouth slightly open and he looks so surprised and dumbfounded.

Everyone around them lets out a shocked noise of some sort: gasps, little cries of despair and he even catches a few sobs. He knows what they're thinking. He can see it in their faces.

 _“He's into blokes?”_ Yes, he is.

 _“He's asking this boy?”_ Yes, he is.

 _“He's not even remotely qualified! He's just a commoner!”_ He's a much better person than Harry, much less any other person here, can ever hope to be.

 _“That can't last anyway, just watch.”_ Maybe not, he certainly hopes that's not the case. But if ever, it will not happen on Harry’s account, at least.

Niall still makes no move to agree, or any reaction of any sort, and after a minute or so of waiting, Harry realizes painfully that maybe. Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea, maybe this wasn't the way to go about this. Maybe. Niall probably doesn't even want to get back together. Maybe he blew his chance.

His chest feels like it's about to rip open, and he blinks away the threat of tears. He puts his hand down slowly, feels like an idiot for putting his heart on the line and deciding between to do the difficult thing can really be shit sometimes as well, and says quietly, “I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time. If you'll excuse me-”

Niall deftly reaches out for his retreated hand, slides Harry's palms into his and accepts him. “Sorry, sorry. I was just a bit shocked. Sorry.”

“God, you idiot,” he breathes, relieved and happy and he can't stop the tears that just fall. Feels a different sort of joy and peace and he's so utterly thankful. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry,” Niall replies, and his eyes soften and he comes closer. Then all those whispers and looks of disdain don't matter much. Not anymore, not when his love is in front of him and accepting his apology and still loves him, despite all the stupidity. “I'm sorry as well.”

“I know this doesn't mean much, in the long run,” Harry tells him, squeezes his hands tight, “but-”

“It's a start,” Niall finishes, smiling gently. It makes a few more tears spill out, but he fights to keep it silent, and in any case, he's not in any way devastated. Feels wave after wave of relief just wash over him. Waves of affection and adoration and love and even more love. “President Holland is crying even harder than you, love.”

Harry laugh-cries at that, the sound altogether wet and maybe a bit pathetic, but Niall is patient with him, as he always is, much more than what Harry's deserved thus far. Niall wipes his tears off with careful hands, and he takes them as they touch his face, and sweeps his lips over the knuckles. Much like he did by Lough Derravaragh, what feels like a lifetime ago. He hopes it comes off as a promise.

Niall watches him, and Harry feels very overwhelmed. Voices it as such, and he gets a soft kiss on his cheek, another even softer right on the corner of his mouth.

“This is okay, right?”

He hums, not trusting his voice, and leans his head against Niall's. It feels like home.

“I’ll take you up on that offer for a dance,” Niall says, “just don’t step on my shoes, these are Paul Smith, borrowed it from Marv.”

“I’ll get him new ones, if I have to,” Harry replies, and he pulls him close, so close that it can’t be mistaken, what they are. Feels brave enough to kiss him chastely, and he does hear gasps and scandalized whispers, but beyond that, he hears sounds of approval, he hears sounds of acceptance and endearment and. They don’t matter, not right now.

He feels someone push them out to the floor, doesn’t doubt for a second it’s either Liam or Zayn, and Niall takes his hand, puts the other on his waist, anchoring him to the moment. He grasps Niall’s neck with his free hand, and the song’s not particularly slow or anything. It’s still the bloody waltz that seems to last forever, but they hold each other close anyway. It occurs to Harry that this is the first time he’s dancing with Niall, isn’t lost on him that the first time people will be seeing him with Niall, they’ll be fucking doing the waltz. An attempt, severely poor attempt of it, at least.

Niall is an awful dancer. Harry is just as bad, in a different way. It doesn’t quite matter, that it’s not perfect; it’s good, really, really good that he’s here. They step on each other’s feet and Harry twirls the wrong way and they almost fall, at one point or another. It’s amazing, in any case.

They don't say much, as they dance. They both ignore the manic grin and thumbs up from Louis as they pass by him in the dance floor, and give collective nods to Liam and Zayn as they step out as well, and they don't dance as bad as they do, mostly because Liam's so good.

He's happy, really. It'll be a long way to go, before this will be truly fixed, but for now, he's happy. It's a start, and it is the best thing, that someone like Niall, someone as good as him, would ever choose him.

It's a bit funny, as well. In the end, it's someone so uninterested in his title, that would be the first to genuinely make him feel like a prince.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Heroes' by Bowie. Based on 'Catch Me I'm In Love,' and 'The Princess Diaries' and 'The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement.' 
> 
> Talk to [me](http://www.castlestylan.tumblr.com).


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